Walk Within my Poetry
by Whyntir
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a legend of a police officer. Driven by his desire to help others, he takes on cold cases. Once he comes across a 12-year-old case, still left unsolved, he dedicates his life to the mystery and the secrets shrouding it. APH AU Songfic.
1. Prologue: Missing

_A young woman cried. No, she wasn't even that. She was a teen, no older than fifteen. Her ashen hair was shoulder length and pulled back with a sunshine yellow, cheap plastic hair-band. A police officer wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, obviously knowing the teenager well. A much smaller girl, only four or five sat beside her on the old, ugly green couch, trying hard not to cry as well. Her hair was down to her waist and the same color, a black ribbon tied in her hair. Both wore black dresses, the best clothes they had. Other officers searched the run-down residence finding nothing, not even food in the kitchen. One came back and asked her if they can search the bedrooms. While the older said it was fine, the younger watched them cautiously._

_They went down a hall where three rooms were. The first to the left was a bathroom, so they moved on. The first to the right, just a little ways down, was the sisters' room. It was a soft lavender color with a full length mirror on the far wall. The bed was a full sized canopy and took up much of the space. Books decorated the walls on homemade shelves. A salvaged chest of drawers was pushed up against the wall, carefully repainted a soft periwinkle blue with gold finish on the edges and handles, and finally an easel propped up a painting of a giant sunflower in the courner. They decided nothing would be found there, so moved on. The last room was on the left, the master bedroom._

_Inside the large bedroom was a giant king sized bed that was elevated above the ground and had steps leading up into it at the far courner. Closer to the door was a grand piano that gleamed from much good use. It was taken care of well and lavished with attention as were the many other, smaller instruments that scattered about the room. What set this room even farther apart from the rest of the house was the finely polished cherry wood floor that must have been expensive when it was placed in. The rest of the house was worn, cheap plywood that was covered by large rugs to hide the most horrible of the damage. A large, semi-circle window sent light dancing through the room as dust particles flitted in and out of the shifting patterns through the branches of the oak trees outside. Towers of papers took up any flat surface that there was, music written across them with an expert hand. Others contained written words in the form of poems._

_One of the officers bent to pick one up only to be stopped by a little body standing protectively in front of the papers. They asked her to move and she refused. They asked again and she refused even more vehement._

"_You can't touch brother's music! Brother loves his music! Please don't touch it! Only brother can touch his music! Only brother!" she shouted, tears starting to collect at the courners of her blue eyes, "Brother will be so sad if it isn't here when he comes back! Please let brother find it when he comes back. Brother will be so lost without his music."_

"_Natalya," a small voice came from behind the men, "Vanya isn't coming back."_

_The girl looked to her older sister with the tears streaming down her face, "No. He said he'd be back this morning. He-He said he'd bring me a cake for my birthday tomorrow. I-I made him promise! He promised he'd be back!"_

_The officers looked between one another. There was nothing more that they could do. They took their leave and the one familiar officer took the two girls to his home, leaving the light to dance across the papers. It almost looked as though a hand was writing across the pages, yet no one was there to see the magic._

* * *

**This is a little story I just couldn't stop from forming in my mind. ****Tell me if I should continue.**


	2. Chapter 1: Concert

Alfred sat at his desk in his small cubicle at the station, his feet propped on the desk as he tossed a ball up and down above him. He just wanted a case! Why did he have to write out repots all the time? That wasn't what he signed up for, isn't that what _secretaries_ were for? He sighed; it was going to be a slow day. Maybe he could pull out another _U_ file and make the headlines again. His last case had been the solving of a three-year-old drive-by that had been left to rot. None of the other guys did the heroic stuff like that. They had told him the second he started the habit that his heroics were futile. Their tune changed once he solved the case. The oldest he had taken on was a five-year decayed assassination on the mayor. Not only had he confirmed it had been assassination, but also the man, or more correctly the _woman_, responsible for it. He was hailed from this little town where he had grown up to the nearby city. And now he was a legend: The Cold Detective, bringing solace to those who have had their lives destroyed and bringing the criminal to justice so they would never hurt anyone else again.

Ever since Alfred was a kid, he had a strong desire to help others, bring them peace of mind. What triggered it, he didn't know anymore. Too many years of the urge made it feel like he had been born with the constant nag. He sighed again, this time a little more exaggerated and throwing the ball so hard it bounced off of the ceiling.

'_Three, two, one . . .'_ he thought to himself before movement to his right grazed his peripheral vision.

"Jones! _MUST_ you be so immature!" the Brit shouted, "You are an adult! We aren't in science lab anymore!"

"The good ol' days, right Fairy boy?" Alfred laughed as his friend glowered. Arthur Kirkland and he had been together since they were tykes playing at the park. Arthur matured much quicker after his dad, an officer before him, got killed on duty. Alfred had felt bad for him, so had kept his childish behaviour to help his friend stay his age at certain points. They went to primary school together, sticking close by up to high school before parting ways to college. Neither saw the other again until Alfred settled on being a police officer in his hometown. That was when the two met back up and had stayed close ever since. Even closer than Alfred was to his older twin brother Matthew who had moved up to Canada and became one of the Mounties. The two didn't see each other often, but they still kept in sporadic touch. The nickname was derived from the fact that Arthur was obsessed with mythical fairytales and it was just _adorable_!

Arthur threw a paper wad at the American, "You bloody git! Can you not let me live that down?"

"Nuh-uh," the other laughed before looking at the clock, "We're off in twelve, wanna do something afterwards?"

"Like what?" the British man pouted, his arms crossed childishly.

"I hear the town's pride and joy of a singer is holding a performance at the theatre tonight. Wanna go?"

"You don't like Opera."

"Yeah, but she has a rock band with her! Can you get that! Opera with a _rock band_! Dude, she is seriously a genius for coming up with that one man! Gotta hand it to her."

Arthur rubbed his temple and sighed, "I should have known there would be a catch."

"Come on! I hear she's amazing, and it would look great for the police department to be there and supporting the town," Alfred grinned slyly.

"Fine. But you are buying the tickets."

"As long as you buy the food."

"Bloody hell Alfred!"

Alfred laughed heartedly before pulling his glasses onto his face and getting some of his work done. Stupid report, but Arthur made it fun.

* * *

"So what's this girl's name again?" Arthur asked settling into his seat and pulling his sleeves out of his heavy coat. It had started snowing outside before the concert; how fitting since the concert was called _Memories in the Snow_.

"Yekaterina "Katyusha" Braginskia. Oh wow, did you know her little sister painted all the art she uses? That's some damn good painting. I literally thought it was photographed or something," Alfred gawked, looking at the pamphlet of the production. The artwork on the front was a large sunflower standing in a blizzard, at the bottom of the leaflet were the small printed words _'Dedicated to our brother who was stolen by the winter'_; it kind of made Alfred's heart clench at the thought of a young man disappearing forever in the snows. He leaned over to his friend, "Hey, look here. It says-." But the lights dimmed out and Arthur promptly hissed at him to shut up. Complying, Alfred sat back in his chair and waited for the singer to step out.

Yekaterina wasn't an overly tall woman, but nor was she really short. She was a healthy five-foot-six with a large bust. Alfred felt a nosebleed coming on. He didn't know they could get _that_ big! Her hair was ashen blonde and cut to her chin with slight bangs in the front. In her hair was a headband with a small sunflower pinned to it, which looked really nice on her. What Alfred didn't get was why all the sunflowers. She wore a form-fitting black dress that reached the floor, though plain with no decorations, it was somehow elegant.

Applause broke out and she smiled sweetly, waving politely and bowing in generosity. Slowly, she stepped to the microphone, "Good evening everyone," she addressed her audience. Cheers erupted and she smiled even wider. He voice had a light accent that Alfred couldn't place. "It's so nice to be back home after all these years. I'm sure some of you remember what happened twelve years ago to this day and in honour of my younger brother, I will be singing the songs he wrote as that little child we all loved listening to on the street courner in front of Mr. Bonnefoy's bakery. Before I get started, I wanted to thank some very special people who have helped my sister and I through these tough years. Firstly, I'd like to show my deepest gratitude to Mr. Francis Bonnefoy, the son of that wonderful baker from all those years ago and the one who is paying for the lights tonight."

Chuckles swept through the crowd and even she giggled at the joke as the man stood up from the front row and took an extravagant bow. "Next, I want to thank my dearest little sister for her support and her beautiful artwork. Vanya would be proud." Applause as a young woman stood and from the front seats and bowed politely, also wearing a black dress with little décor to it. "To cut this short, I want to thank the police department and Police Chief Djavakhi Pavneli for his help and support to my sister and I and all the work you went through to try and bring our brother back to us. We thank you deeply." Even more applause and this one made Alfred's heart swell with pride. So the Police Chief knew these two personally, that made it even better that he'd come with Arthur. He _was_ part of the Police Department, was he not?

"This song has been titled _Dead Boy's Poem_ by Ivan Braginsky." She closed her eyes as soft music played. Her face fallen. Suddenly she looked up in the silence.

"_Born from silence, silence full of it  
A perfect concert my best friend  
So much to live for, so much to die for  
If only my heart had a home_"

_Sing what you can't say_  
_Forget what you can't play_  
_Hasten to drown into beautiful eyes_  
_Walk within my poetry, this dying music_  
_- My love-letter to nobody_

_Never sigh for a better world_  
_It's already composed, played and told_  
_Every thought: the music I write_  
_Everything: a wish for the night_

_Wrote for the eclipse, wrote for the virgin_  
_Died for the beauty the one in the garden_  
_Created a kingdom, reached for the wisdom_  
_Failed in becoming a god_

_Never sigh for a better world_  
_It's already composed, played and told_  
_Every thought: the music I write_  
_Everything: a wish for the night_

_A lonely soul_  
_An ocean soul"_

Applause erupted throughout the auditorium. Even Alfred was clapping madly. He voice was unbelievable, other worldly. Simply beautiful. It was as though her brother had written the song just for her . . . perhaps he had. Nonetheless, it was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing Alfred had ever heard. And the other songs were equally beautiful. For the final song she addressed the audience once more.

"I know your performance pamphlets said that the next song would be _Over the Hills and Far Away_. I have decided to change it to a song he would play on the piano at home while I practiced my singing. This has never been played anywhere else before and I hope it brings back those fond memories of Vanya." A piano started playing a tune that could easily have been taken for a lullaby.

"_The winter left her blanket  
here this morning  
A soft and gentle coverlet of white  
Unfolded in the shadows of the dawn  
It Sparked in the early morning light  
You would have loved this  
You would have loved this  
This was your favorite time of day_

_The greenery is laid across the mantle  
And ornaments are hanging on the tree  
And cradled in the windowsill's a candle  
A beacon in the night  
to call you back to me  
You would have loved this  
You always loved this  
I k__now you loved this time of year_

_And though I understand  
One day again I'll see you  
I long to touch your h__and,  
hear your voice, feel you_

_You would have loved this  
You always loved this  
Oh, how you loved._"

Alfred was not tearing up. Alfred F Jones does NOT tear up because of a super beautiful song that just made his heart quiver to pieces. It was silent in the sudden mood that made everyone stiff with the sheer power of her voice. Suddenly, Arthur stood up and began clapping ethusiastically, tears rolling down his reddened cheeks. In the front row, Francis Bonnefoy and Natalya mimiked the gesture and soon even Alfred was up and clapping madly. Then the whole auditorium thundered in the applause.

A soft noise caught his attention and Alfred turned around to see a small child dressed in rags fleeing the room in tears, his hair the same ashen blonde.

* * *

**A/N: The songs are sung by Tarja Turnen. The first is when she was still with Nightwish and is what forced this story to be made. The second I found right as I was writing the scene and I was crying at how well it fit the moment. Please review. It makes me depressed when no one does.**


	3. Chapter 2: Braginsky, Ivan

After the Concert, Yekaterina and her sister stood by the door, shaking everyone's hands as they made their leave. Some wrapped their arms around the sisters and voiced their condolences and love. While Katyusha had tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, the smaller did not. She remained neutral in her expression, returning handshakes and hugs and saying good-night. Alfred reached the door and grasped the older sister's hand in both of his. She smiled warmly.

"The songs were beautiful Ms. Braginskya, but I was wondering about your brother's case," he said softly, his face serious and calculating. Arthur stood behind him noticing his friend's change in mood. This was the Alfred he personally preferred: The one who actually _worked_.

Katyusha smiled sadly, "It was such a long time ago. First it was just a Missing Persons, but after it went to the next year, everyone considered him dead. No one knows where the body is, and that is something I would give anything for. I just want to know where he is . . ." Her voice trailed off as tears spilled over and caressed her cheeks.

The younger stepped over and wrapped her arms around her sister, "Vanya and I were going to celebrate our birthdays together, even though mine is in August. He went out to play his music and earn the last bit of money he needed, but when he didn't return by night, Katyusha called the police. They came out the next morning, but she had a feeling he wouldn't be back," she paused before looking into Alfred's ocean blue eyes with her baby blue, "I am Natalya Arlovskaya-Braginskya. I'm Katyusha's and Vanya's half-sister. You are?"

"Officer Alfred F. Jones," he pulled out a card from his pocket, "I would like to talk with the two of you at a more opportune time seeing as I'm holding up the line."

Katyusha took the card and read it, "Cold Case Detective?"

"I take on cases that aren't being worked anymore and bring them to a close. I could possibly find your brother."

Her eyes lit up at the thought, "_Da_, Yes, yes. I'll call you, perhaps tomorrow after breakfast?"

"That would be just fine. Good night Ms.-."

"Call me Katyusha."

He smiled, "Good-night Katyusha."

* * *

Arthur sighed as he drove the two of them back to their shared apartment, "What are you thinking Jones? This is a twelve-year-old case . . . and two more days to New Years. This isn't something you should take upon yourself all at once either. I know how you feel Alfred, I want to help too, but sometimes you have to know when it is hopeless."

"I saw a kid in the back. I didn't get a good look at him, but he was dressed in rags," Alfred spoke, half-consciously, mostly deep in thought.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he was crying."

"What else?"

"He had their hair. The same hair color as the sisters," he explained, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

Arthur glanced at him from the courner of his eye, "Maybe a relative who knew them well?"

"Why was he in rags though?"

"I don't know."

Alfred looked to the Brit and smiled, "How about we stop by the station. I want to get a head start before I get the phone call."

* * *

Alfred held the flashlight in his mouth as he looked through the files. He had worked those of three, four, even five years back, but not one twelve. Not one anywhere near twelve actually. But Yekaterina's voice echoed in his mind as he imagined the three in their living room somewhere as children and decorating a tree for Christmas. Then it flashed to Natalya and Katyusha sitting by a window with a single candle as they stared out longingly into the snow drifts waiting for their brother to come home . . . and he never did.

Alfred shook his head slightly as he continued flipping through files in the _U_ cabinet. He didn't want to get lost in the moment, which was the downfall of his urge. It placed him there, in the middle of it all. It helped with his cases, but before the actual investigation was the hardest. He felt the loss, the pain, the missing piece in the center of his heart.

_Braginsky, Ivan_

He took out the folder and tucked it under his jacket before he left the station and ran into the hailing snow and dashed to the parked car which was nice and warm. He'd look into it once they got home.

* * *

Arthur was asleep on the couch within a matter of minutes after turning on the television. He cuddled up against himself under his Union Jack blanket and slipped out of consciousness to dreamland. He pouted sometimes in his sleep, which Alfred would normally think as totally cute. The two were roommates to help pay for the rent. Even though both could afford it individually, it did two things: one, it left them with more money to spend on lesser things. Two, it kept them together. They were like brothers, and it brought back the memories of childhood.

Tonight Alfred sat at the small dining table with papers strewn all about. He was reading the statement first, written by the Police Chief while he was still out in the field.

* * *

_December 29_

_According to the victim's older sister, the victim would wake up early and make breakfast for his sisters before leaving to go to the street courner in front of the bakery a block away from the house. On December 28, the victim failed to return home by dusk as he had always done before. His sister was worried, so she called the station but no officers could be dispatched until ten the next morning._

_The house was dilapidated and falling apart, outside there was snow falling on the ground. Oddly enough, the oak trees still had their leaves. According to the victim's older sister, their step-father had abused them for years after he married their mother who died in childbirth when the victim was two and victim's older sister was eleven. At their mother's death, the victim began writing music to release his frustration. However, at the age of four, the victim's stepfather came home drunk and began beating the victim's older sister. In self-defense, the victim took a lead pipe and beat his stepfather to death, hence the lack of adults to care for the children._

_Inside the master bedroom was a variety of instruments, ranging from a grand piano to a clarinet. According to the victim's older sister, he had bout each one with his music besides the grand piano which had been their mother's. The girls said he had a violin, but when one was not found, it was assumed that he had taken that instrument out with him to play. No evidence that led to where he may be held was at the house._

_December 31_

_After interrogating Mr. Bonnefoy nothing was found, but he directed us to Mr. Beilschmidt's Automobile Repair shop._

* * *

_January 3_

_After an interrogation session with Mr. Beilschmidt nothing was found, but we were directed to Mr. Vargas' Italian Restaurant._

* * *

_January 5_

_After a talk with Mr. Vargas nothing was found, but we were told to see Mr. Edelstein's Music Store._

* * *

_January 12_

_After a long discussion with Mr. Edelstein he told us that the youth had stopped by around noon the day of his disappearance and had begged him to buy the violin despite the man's protests. The reason he protested so vehemently, he said, was because the boy had a gift. He was amazing with his music and he hoped his son would one day be as good as the victim. When the boy had explained that he had no money to buy his sister a birthday cake for the day after next, he begrudgingly took the instrument, but paid heartedly for it. He hadn't seen the boy since._

_This brings question to where the boy's money had gone. According to his sisters, he had raised twenty-seven dollars and thirty-seven cents._

* * *

_January 13_

_Another talk with Mr. Bonnefoy gave us a little more insight to the victim. Apparently, he had been saving up for a birthday cake that cost thirty-six dollars. It was special ordered and baked the same day as the victim had disappeared. After cross referencing the times, the cake was order ten minutes after the boy had sold his violin at Edelstein's shop. He had left all his money with the baker before promising he'd be back by seven that evening to pick up the cake. He left to an unknown location and the baker never saw him again. As a friend of the family, I requested the same cake and took it back to the victim's younger sister._

* * *

_January 25_

_Nothing has been found_

* * *

_January 30_

_No updates_

* * *

_February 2_

_Mr. Beilschmidt's son, Gilbert, came into the station and asked to have an interview about the case. The boy is only ten but insisted on making a statement. His written statement is below._

* * *

_**February 2**_

_**Gilbert F. Beilschmidt**_

_**On December 28, Ivan had wandered down to the Auto shop and stood looking at the tools. Dad said hi and asked if there was anything he needed, Ivan nodded and asked where he could find Mr. Edelstein's Music Shop. Dad called me over and told me to walk Ivan down to the store since I visited Roderich at the shop often. On our way to the shop, there was a girl staring through a pet shop window. I knew her as Elizabeta **__**Héderváry and she stood with Feli Vargas as they played with a kitten through the glass.**_

_**I didn't know Ivan that well. He was a quiet boyand spoke with a weird accent, but Dad always told me not to be rude so I never commented on it. What I did know was that he worked really hard and had rough hands. He was small for his age of six and had a really big smile most of the time. Also, I know he loved to help other people.**_

_**When he saw Liz and Feli, he hurried over to them and asked if they wanted the kitten. Elizabeta nodded her head happily and Feliciano jumped up and down saying yes. The kitten was ten dollars and Ivan paid for it and gave it to them. He smiled so wide, I thought his face would split in two! Then, after we left them with their new kitten, Ivan looked a little worried. I asked him what the matter was and he said he spent the last of his money he had been saving up. Now he really hoped Mr. Edelstein would pay him the thirty-six dollars he needed. He told me that he was going to sell his violin. It wasn't small or anything. It was made for an adult, that much I could tell. It was a wonder how he could play it with his tiny little hands.**_

_**He said he had saved up more than half of the money, but he was really worried he couldn't keep his promise to his little sister about the cake. He said he had the feeling since he left the house and saw three boys playing in a field with a ball when it got ran over by a car and the smaller boy with glasses was crying saying he couldn't get another ball. They were fifteen dollars and twenty cents. So Ivan bought him another one, leaving him with only tweleve dollars and seventeen cents. After he bought the cat, he only had two dollars and seventeen cents.**_

_**I left him at Mr. Edelstein's Music shop, said a quick hi to Roderich and went back to Dad's shop. I didn't see anything after that.**_

* * *

The handwriting changed to neither Chief Pavneli or the kid.

* * *

_August 2_

_Nothing to report_

* * *

_Febuary 2_

_Nothing to report_

* * *

The investigation ended there! There was no way. After that it was just the Due Diligence dance. A signiture every six months. Alfred couldn't believe that the Chief woul let it go that easily. Let these files collect dust. He could tell from the writing that he was trying hard to keep impersonal from the case . . . maybe they pulled him. He would need to ask. Alfred turned the page to see a picture of the three children and their stepfather. Katyusha held a baby Natalya while a small boy clung onto her thin jacket. The man in the photo had a mustache and stern black eyes that reflected an evil gleam. No one smiled. Everyone was dressed in black. That must have been the funeral. He noticed Yekaterina had longer hair that reached her shoulders.

The boy caught his eye. He was dressed in a stiff lookinmg black suit with a red tie. What set him apart from everyone else were his eyes. While Katyusha had the same blue as Natalya, Ivan had a deep violet color. He shared the same hair as the two girls however.

Another picture, on the back was the Chief's hand writing again. So he had taken the picture. Katyusha was smiling, with a yellow plastic headband in her hair while Natalya pouted, clinging onto her brother's arm sitting beside him. Speaking of the boy, he was dressed in a thin shirt and jacket, he sat at a grand piano, attempting to play with one hand. He was smiling broadly, laughing even. Alfred turned the photo back around to the back. A week before he disappeared.

* * *

Alfred stood out on the balcony smoking a cigerret as he thought over the case. This one would, probably, be the toughest one to crack. So many people to look up, but they probably didn't remember everything. What he did know was that he _did_ remember Ivan. _He_ had been that little boy with the ruined ball. His brother, him, and Arthur had gone to play at the park and the ball bounced into the street and a car ran it over. He could still remember how he sat there bawling his eyes out, saying how it was the end of the world.

And what hurt him even more was that he had been one of the last people to see Ivan before he was spirited away. And even worse, he spent his December thirtieth playing in the snow while the Braginksys had spent it mourning. With a sight, he ground out his cigarret between his thumb and forefinger before throwing the butt into the dumpster below.

What didn't make sense was the boy at the theatre. Ivan would be eighteen if he was still alive, but the boy looked just like him. A very disturbing factor.

* * *

**A/N: What I forgot to mention. Police Chief Pavneli is Georgia. Yeah, I just had to.**

**Next Chapter: Alfred goes to see Yekaterina and visits the old house to look around to find something he can use as a spring-pad when he finds something unexpected.**


	4. Chapter 3: Ghost

Alfred sat at the dining table in a very expensive apartment; this was what a penthouse looked like, huh? The floor was expensive oak wood and a crystal chandelier hung over the table. Nothing was gaudily extravagant, the table wasn't huge and the chandelier was small. Still, everything was of expensive taste. Katyusha sipped her hot chocolate that steamed in the chilly air. By habit, the girls kept the rooms fairly cold. They were used to no heating from their childhood, which was probably better since it would have cost an arm and a leg to pay for, though the two could probably fork the money over with no problem. As it was, Natalya was painting, her back to him and a gray painter's beret on her head. From what he could make of her work, it was her brother. Without any reference, she was amazing. He looked as though he could reach out of the paper and ask for the officer's help.

On the table before him were the file and a matching cup of cocoa. They had been discussing the events that had led up to Ivan's disappearance and all those who had seen him. Now Alfred wanted to see their childhood home.

"Did the two of you sell the property or did the government take it over?" he asked casually as he sipped his drink. It was hot, but he pretended it didn't bother him.

Yekaterina shook her head, "Since I was a minor, Djavakhi took over the property until I became eighteen three years later. I couldn't bring myself to sell it. I guess that little twinge of hope that Vanya would come back and he'd be lost if we sold the house to someone else. Also, the majority of the house is still in shambles. Just like the childhood days. I can't change it."

"I understand. Do you mind if I take a look around by myself once I leave here?"

"No, not at all. Ah, Natasha? Can you write down the directions to the old house for Officer Jones?"

"Of course sister," the little voice from the other room called. Alfred watched as she stood up, revealing her completely picture. Her brother was at eyelevel with a sunflower in his hand and a wide smile on his face.

"Can you describe to me, to the best of your ability, what he was wearing the day he disappeared?" he asked, snapping himself

"He was wearing a tan overcoat that buttoned on the right side of the chest right here," she showed him with her hands after placing the cup on the cherry wood table, "It was a tiny little thing that reached his ankles. He wasn't that big, really, just barely taller than Natalya who was two years his junior. He was wearing knee high boots with his pants tucked into them. They were also tan, but a shade darker than the coat. He also wore a turtleneck, it was worn though. I don't think it did much to keep the cold out. Oh and he wore this scarf I made him-."

"Was it, like, huge? Way too big for him that covered his face up to his eyes and flew behind him when he ran?"

Her big blue eyes blinked, "Why, yes. How did you know?"

'_Because I saw those exact clothes on that boy at the performance last night.'_

"I saw a picture of him wearing it somewhere. I might have left the photo at home by accident. May I ask why you made it so big? It's kind of irrelevant, but I am curious," he said quickly. Easy enough lie.

Yekaterina bought it easily, "I wasn't paying attention when I made it really," she laughed, a sweet, bell-like chime, "I just kept crocheting and didn't notice when it was already pooling on the floor. I was listening to a book on the radio. What caught my attention was when he came into the room and just gawked at the cloth and shouted, _'Katyusha! That's TOO big!'_ I was so surprised, but we started laughing and Ivan put it on. I told him I could cut it short, but he said he loved it the way it was. It just showed how much I loved him in every stitch." She sighed, looking back at the memory, "He was five at the time and the winter was so bad. I didn't like it when he went out in those old cloths." Suddenly her eyes turned pained, "If I had known I would only have one year left, I would have done so much more. I would have done it differently, right from the beginning. I would have kept stepfather from hurting him. I-I."

Natalya had come through the door and gently placed the paper on the file before rushing to her sister and holding her tightly and murmured to her in a different language. Once the older quieted down, Natalya glanced at Alfred before leaving. After she was gone, the blonde looked back to the young woman. "She seems very strong," he commented about the younger sister.

"Yes that she is. She hasn't cried once since the day after Vanya disappeared. Sadly, nor has she smiled," Katyusha commented, wiping her eyes on a kerchief.

Feeling bad, Alfred finished off his drink in one motion, ignoring the burning in his mouth. "I'll head over there now. If I find anything strange, I'll bring it back here, okay?"

"Yes, of course."

Natalya showed Alfred the way to the door, before he left, she roughly grabbed his arm. He turned to have her lips press against him. He flushed a deep shade of pink. Once she pulled away, she didn't give him time to speak, which was probably better since he would have looked like a total idiot instead of the decisive detective he wanted to portray.

"That is for wanting to find Vanya for us. Please, whether he be alive somewhere or if he should be brought in a body bag, please bring him back. I know you probably have procedures you must follow in your line of work, but do what you _must_. Katyusha may not want the one who has caused us this heartache to be punished severely, but if you can, _I want them dead_."

Before he could even respond, the door was closed. That was one freaky ass baby sister. But he'd probably say the same if Mattie had gone missing. He made his way to the ground floor and lit a cigarette before stepping into his car. He thought about Katyusha and Natalya. Then he thought about how he'd feel if Mattie had been taken . . . or Arthur. He ground the butt out in his palm.

He'd want justice.

* * *

The house looked rotten from the outside. Even wore from the inside. The floor was cheap and worn. The rugs were dull and frayed, some moth-eaten. He looked through the house, every room. It was exactly the same as when the police showed up twelve years ago. He looked in the living room and stood stiff. In the middle of the room was a fake Christmas tree made of cheap material, covered in lights and Christmas ornaments. Over the fireplace mantel was a wreathe of holly and a sunflower rested at the very top. At first, Alfred thought it was a replication of life as everything else was, but once he touched a petal only to have it fall into his hand leathery and warm, he knew it was real. It was amazingly preserved, most likely picked in its youth during the late summer and pressed in one of the many large books until winter. What made Alfred stop wasn't the Christmas display, but the paper all along the ground. Wrapping paper littered the floor, the shreds varying from brilliant gold to yellowed newspaper.

Puzzled, Alfred looked around once more and spotted a small candle in the large window facing the street. That wasn't so confusing, but it was lit and the officer could have sworn that no light had been in the room when he first entered.

"Creepy," he muttered and went to pick up a piece of thicker paper. As he had suspected, it was a card, yellowing from age. Written in a child's wobbly scrawl were the words

_To Vanya_

_From Natalya_

_I miss you brother._

Alfred frowned before yelping in surprise. The fireplace suddenly held a flame that made an audible _fwooshp_ sound at its birth. The American dropped the card, his hands shaking wildly, his eyes flitting every which way as his hands became clammy. Only his closest friends knew of his phobia and paranoia of ghosts, and if there was a ghost here . . . . Oooh damn.

Licking his lips, the blonde quickly left the room. As he entered the hallway, he noticed a light in the far bedroom to the left. He pulled out his gun, just to be safe, and made his way to the door which was left ajar. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushed it open before jumping into the door way with his gun raised.

A child with large violet eyes exclaimed in surprise and clutched the flute tightly to his body. Alfred stared at him in shock. He wore a thin turtleneck shirt and khaki pants tucked into knee high boots. On the bed was an overly long scarf and tan trench coat. The officer looked back at the child who was now watching him curiously. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. Slowly he reached out to touch the child, only to have his hand go through the little body.

Then the ground rushed up to meet him.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, Alfred is still terrified of ghosts. Yay~!**

**Next Chapter: Alfred talks to Arthur about the case and has to try and force himself pass his fear of ghosts.**


	5. Chapter 4: Save Me!

**WARNING: Mention of Non-con, Nudity, and Murder. Not much detail, but wanted to warn ya.**

* * *

He groaned, his head hurting like a bitch. Where was he again? Oh yeah, he had just had his hand go through a . . . _GHOST_! Alfred jolted awake to find himself in the large bed that he had seen when entering the room. The blankets were soft from lack of use, and the pillow felt freshly plumped.

"About time you bloody woke up you git. I've been here for at least ten minutes waiting for those childish eyes of yours to open," Arthur snapped from where he sat at the piano. He was looking at a few of the papers that lay scattered around the room.

"How?"

"Some big fellow told me he put you down in the bed after finding you passed out on the floor. Said he was the housekeeper until the sisters came to celebrate the holidays at their childhood home," the Brit explained, placing one of the papers aside.

Alfred blinked, "Big guy?"

"Yeah. He wore a tweed cap and a matching tweed coat that went down to his shins with leather cloves and this giant scarf that went down to the back of his knees. The guy was huge, easily over six feet, but the guy seemed friendly enough."

"Huh . . ." He stood up, shaking slightly, "What time is it?"

"Seven in the evening, which means the snow is freezing to ice and the sun has called it quits."

Alfred noticed his boots were taken off and laid neatly beside the bed. Odd. Even so, he put them on and stuffed his pants into them, "Then we best be heading home. What were you looking at by the way?"

Arthur held up a few pages, the writing was elegant and painstakingly placed to perfection, as though the writing was much more difficult than it would appear. One thing Alfred noticed was that there were no words crossed out, but deliberately placed. This was odd, since it was a small child writing music. Even Beethoven crossed the shit out of his papers that he'd need to fix it up on separate sheets. There were no scratch marks on any of the compositions. It was very odd. Taking the papers, he flipped through them until he saw one was of the songs Katyusha had sung the night before. What was it titled again? _The Poet and the Pendulum_.

* * *

_The end_  
_The songwriter's dead_  
_The blade fell upon him_  
_Taking him to the white land_  
_of empathica, of innocence_  
_empathica, innocence_

_The dreamer and the wine_  
_Poet without a rhyme_  
_A widowed writer, torn apart by chains of Hell _  
_One last perfect verse _  
_Is still the same old song _  
_Oh Christ, how I hate what I have become _  
_Take me home _

_Get away, run away, fly away_  
_Lead me astray, to dreamer's hideaway_  
_I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more_  
_I cannot die_  
_Forgive me, I have but two faces_  
_One for the world,_  
_One for god, save me,_  
_I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more_  
_I cannot die_

_My home was there and then, those meadows of heaven_  
_Adventure-filled days,_  
_one with every smiling face_  
_Please, no more words_  
_Those from a seventh hell_  
_No more praise, tell me once my heart goes right_  
_Take me home_

_Get away, run away, fly away_  
_Lead me astray, to dreamer's hideaway_  
_I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more_  
_I cannot die_  
_Forgive me, I have but two faces_  
_One for the world,_  
_One for god, save me,_  
_I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more_  
_I cannot die_

_Sparkle my scenery_  
_with turquoise waterfalls_  
_With beauty underneath_  
_the ever free_  
_Tuck me in_  
_Beneath the blue_  
_Beneath the pain_  
_Beneath the rain_

_good night kiss for a child in time_  
_swaying blade, my lullaby_

_On the shore we sat and hoped_  
_Under the same pale moon_  
_whose guiding light chose you_  
_chose you all_

_Getaway, runaway, fly away_  
_Lead me astray to dreamer's hideaway_  
_I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more_  
_I cannot die_  
_Forgive me_  
_I have but two faces_  
_One for the world_  
_One for God_  
_Save me_  
_I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more_  
_I cannot die_

_Today, in the year of our Lord,_  
_Tuomas was called from the cares of the world._  
_He stopped crying at the end of each beautiful day._  
_The music he wrote had too long been without silence._

_Be still, my son_  
_You're home_  
_Oh when did you become so cold?_  
_The blade will keep on descending_  
_All you need is to feel my love_

_Search for beauty, find your shore_  
_Try to save them all, bleed no more_  
_You have such oceans within_  
_In the end_  
_I will always love you._

* * *

It was a depressing song that made him want to cry as he heard her beautiful voice in his mind once more. Suddenly he noticed indents in the paper. He turned it over to find hurried writing that slurred in half print, half cursive and frantic.

* * *

_**I'm afraid, I'm so afraid**_

* * *

_He was in a dark hallway, there was no light except for gas lanterns, and some didn't burn. It was cold. Suddenly he found himself in a dark room with a small, barred window. Barbed wire decorated the steel. Still, a small boy with ashen hair gripped them tightly, the spines digging deep into his palms and black blood trailing down them in the night. It was cold. Colder than anything he had ever felt. The boy in front of him wore clothes that seemed to be falling apart. The only thing that was exceptionally taken car of was the long scarf that was wrapped around him snuggly. _Ivan.

* * *

_**Being raped, again and again and again**_

* * *

_The room turned to gray before him before he found himself somewhere, following this child through time. The child was no more than eight, but his hands were tied behind his back as someone in the shadows behind him performed absolute atrocities._

* * *

_**I know I will die alone, but loved**_

* * *

_It changed once more, back in the little cell. The scarf around his neck and shoulders keeping him warm in the blizzard, and it was meant to be more than literal. He looked down to the carefully stitched pattern. His face reflected agony and melancholy, but not a tear left those beautiful, determined violet eyes._

* * *

_**You live long enough to hear the sound of guns,**_

_**long enough to find yourself screaming every night,**_

_**long enough to see your friends betray you.**_

_**

* * *

**_

_Another boy, his hair was black in the moonless dark, perhaps brown in the light, conversed with Ivan. His dark hair reached his shoulders and his green eyes shined in determination. Beside him, there was a blonde with scared, timid emerald eyes. The two seemed to be close. He could see the defiant gleam in the two taller boys' eyes, but the blonde looked doubtful._

_

* * *

__Ivan waited at the window intently. There was no moon yet again, and the stars were lost in the sea of clouds. Suddenly, from the outside of the window, the boy from before, with the long brown hair, appeared. He had gotten out. Ivan's face broke into a gleeful grin. Oddly, there were no barbed wires on these bars. Obviously the brunet had escaped and came back to free him. The blonde sat still beside the scarf-clad boy. Sweat rolling down his forehead. The brunet had a manual bar-cutter. Alfred felt himself cheering, though he was not the one being held captive. Suddenly something caught their attention. Ivan waved the other away from the window and fled to his bed. The blonde was too shocked to move._

DAMN IT

_A guard in the shadows stepped forward and glowered at the smaller boy, a whip in his large hands. Immediately the boy began crying and talking really fast. He could see Ivan's body under the covers stiffen. They were being ratted out; by a friend no less. Ivan's violet eyes became dark and stormy. They searched every which way before they rested on something concealed in the shadows of the courner. The guard cracked his whip against the small boy's back who cried out. Alfred could read his lips_

'I swear, I swear, I swear.'

_Then Ivan was behind the guard. He had gotten much taller, he could have been a short thirteen or fourteen, but he still had the round face of a child that made him look like a really tall ten year old. In his hands: a lead pipe. He swung and it impacted the guard right at the base of his neck. He fell unceremoniously to the ground, but Ivan kept swinging until the man's skull was nothing but a meshed pool of bone, brain, and blood. The brunet reappeared in the window and finished cutting the bars off. Ivan pushed the blonde through before jumping through himself. They ran away from wherever it was they were held. They ran from Hell through the snow as it seemed to fall in congratulations._

_As they seemed to be home free, the first sound Alfred heard through this entire transaction was the sound of a gunshot. He jumped just as Ivan fell to the ground, clutching his shin, blood pooling through his pale fingers. The two other boys stopped and went to pick them up. He could hear their voices now._

"_No!" Ivan hissed as they headed back for him, "Keep going! I'll slow you down."_

"_But Ivan-," the brunet started_

"_Keep going you idiots! They'll be here soon. Two-out-of-three, remember that rule Toris? You were the one who came up with that one. Two-out-of-three is what we need to prove that this can be done."_

"_Ivan . . ."_

"_Come on Toris!" the blonde whined, pulling at the brunet's sleeve, "He's, like, going to pull a hero stunt, just let him! We can totally make it like this!"_

_The two taller boys shared gazes for a moment before Toris nodded, "Alright, We'll go in a different direction and you lead them off the best you can."_

"_Da. Go."_

"_Come one Feliks." And the two changed their direction to head off to the right while Ivan slowly struggled to his feet and made off in the direct opposite direction, his left leg dragging behind him painfully as blood dyed the snow red. Boots came from behind him and Alfred made to turn, but the image had faded. Ivan was captured._

* * *

**For years I've been strapped unto this altar.**  
**Now I only have 3 minutes and counting.**  
**I just wish the tide would catch me first and give me a death I always longed for.**

* * *

_Ivan sat in the cell with the barbs over the steel bars. He was waiting to be executed. The door opened and a man in the shadows stood threateningly at the threshold. Ivan looked at the man, a broad smile on his face. Beside him was a small piece of paper with a piece of charcoal, pushed off to the side for the final time._

* * *

**Everyone must bury their own**  
**No pack to bury the heart of stone**  
**Now he's home in hell, serves him well**  
**Slain by the bell, tolling for his farewell**

_**Save me  
I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more  
I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world**_

_**Save me!**_

* * *

Alfred felt a hand placed on his shoulder and sound was coming back.

"Alfred! Alfred, are you alright? What's wrong?" Arthur shouted, shaking him roughly to snap him out of the stupor he was in. His blue eyes blinked rapidly as he came back from the nightmare that wasn't his. His head throbbed painfully, and he groaned, burying it in his arms.

Arthur sighed, somewhat relaxed that he hadn't died on him or something, "You bloody git, you zoned out staring at the paper. You've been standing stiff as a statue for five minutes."

Five minutes! He had been bouncing back and forth in time all in five minutes! He had witnessed the agony of the boy he was looking for and the anguish of more all in five minutes! "Oh god. W-we need to stop by at the sisters' apartment. And show this to them. Like, now."

"Why?"

He handed the paper to his friend who read over it, his green eyes widening, "This-this is a note. It's not just a song. This is- . . ."

* * *

They exited the house, careful to lock the door of the house and jumped into the car before making their way down the street. "There is another concert tonight, so we'll head them off at the theatre."

"Alright, fine by me."

'_Save me. He wrote this while imprisoned? How is that so? How- The paper? But his captors would never mail it out of the goodness of their heart. So . . . the ghost.'_

"You still believe in ghosts, right Arthur?" Alfred asked, watching the town fly past as though he was stepping back in time.

"Yeah. And?"

"I think I saw Ivan. And I think he's dead."

* * *

**A/N: Oh snap that was totally spoilerific. Still have mystery going people, like **_**who**_** did it? Heeheehee, you won't know that for a while, and Alfred still needs to get into contact with Ghost Ivan. And Arthur still has his ability to see ghosts whether they want him to or not. And the lyrics have been edited the hell out of. Sorry~. Fits, no?**

**Next Chapter: Alfred makes contact with the little ghost, who proves not to be so little.**


	6. Chapter 5: Death's Chill

**A/N: This has taken WAY too long. I have no excuse, but I can only beg that you will forgive me. I am currently under the weather and feel less motivated than ever with school and everything. School: the death of all creativity. Gomenosai, gomenosai, I will be writing again. PROMISE! I hope . . .**

* * *

They arrived at the theatre. A few of the audience members had arrived, specifically those who were close friends to Yekaterina and her sister. They stepped into the auditorium to see Francis Bonnefoy chatting with their Chief, Djavakhi Pavneli. Also, sitting not to far away, looking uncomfortable dressed up, was Gilbert Beilschmidt. He was the best mechanic in the area, but he was also a really laid back sort of guy. Dressing up was not his thing. Alfred and Arthur knew him from when they were in high school; he had been a hoodlum back in the day, but luckily got his act together by graduation. Beside him was his brother Ludwig who was seventeen and graduating in the next summer, the elder was twenty-one.

Alfred hurried over to the albino man, "Hey, Gilbo. Long-time-no-see man. How have you been?"

"Huh?" Gilbert looked up before a broad grin split his face and he stood, giving the American a _manly_ hug, "Hey Jones. How is the police life going?"

"Fine, I'm on a case right now actually."

His red eyes blinked at the seriousness of his tone, "Really? Anything the Awesome Me can help you with? You seem pretty worked up about this."

"Oh yeah?" he laughed, but tension still lingered, "Well, actually I wanted to see you but since you're here, I don't see why I shouldn't talk to you now."

The German could see the calculating coolness behind his friend's ocean eyes. It had been there since they had met in freshman year. That coolness made the warm light freeze over into cold calculations. Whatever it was, Gilbert didn't know if he wanted to talk about it right now, but that would seem suspicious. If Alfred wanted to talk to him, he may be a suspect for something, or he was placed somewhere and couldn't remember. "Sure, go ahead and shoot." He winced at his words. _Wrong fucking analogy to be using!_

A note pad came out, "Do you remember the statement you filed eleven years on the Braginsky Case? You were ten at the time, so I don't expect-."

"Yeah. I remember it clear as day. Why? You working that case?"

"Yeah."

Red eyes looked dead, "Don't bother. He's dead. If you haven't heard from him for two years, I thought you guys considered them dead."

"Yeah, normally we do. But on request of his sisters I am looking for him, even if it's a bunch of bones."

"They're dead Alfred. All of them are dead."

That caught his attention. His head snapped up from the paper, "All? You mean there's more?"

"Well, yeah. Every winter. Hasn't happened for the past three years, but that's probably because there aren't that many little kids anymore. All of them are kidnapped between the ages of six and twelve."

"How do you know this?"

"Because," his eyes flickered off to the side, "A year after Ivan disappeared, Elizabeta did too. No one took up the case because she had been in the city when it happened with her girl scouts troupe. No one has seen her since. It was February thirteenth. I still remember her at my birthday party. I was such a little brat to her, but we always laughed, ya know?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I remember it in the newspapers, but didn't the police determine it was unrelated to Braginsky's," he was now intrigued and disturbed.

"That's what they said," he looked dead into those blue orbs, "But I know, I _know_, the two are related. Not only that, but I did some research after I heard that some Finnish boy was taken from the city on Christmas Eve in middle school. Sporadically, for the past sixteen years, children between the ages of six and twelve have disappeared in the winter months, going all the way to the first day of spring in March. Don't you think that's really weird? It _has_ to be planned."

That was true. He had read all those things since high school. The last child to get kidnapped in the month of January was back four years ago. The baby sister of a friend of his was missing. At the time he was still in high school and going through the police academy at the same time. Meimei was her name. Kiku was heartbroken, but nowhere near as much as their eldest brother Yao. He was put under police watch to ensure he wouldn't commit suicide.

Alfred snapped his fingers repeatedly as he began click the pieces together. At the same time, he could feel his blood gain weight and leave his face to his feet. This was bigger than he had expected; _much_ bigger than he would have ever dreamed of. This little mystery just changed from being a Search-and-Rescue/Recover to a gamut web of numerous cases, all collecting dust or being worked in the city.

He quickly excused himself and walked away, thinking about what he had just been lead to. Arthur was standing by Pavneli, engaging in small-talk. Arthur called him over, "Sir, Alfred has one of your old cases that he is looking into."

"Yes, Katyusha told me. That case isn't a safe one Alfred. I suggest you let it go."

This ripped the American from his subspace of thought. The Chief, he whom is close friends with the family, telling him to leave a missing boy missing? "I realize you had worked the case prior to the due diligence. Why-?"

"Why did I drop it? Because strange things happened in that case Alfred," the man sighed as though he was much older than his thirty-seven years, "It isn't safe, High Jingo, but not politically. Not with our politics anyway. In the least I would hope. But there are other things as well. Whenever I stepped foot into the house, I felt this _evil_ force trying to suffocate me, but not having enough tangible matter to do so. And the writings. Not once have I ever been able to see the works of the boy. Every time I attempted, the younger sister would rush in, scolding me and adamantly deny it later, or . . . well, once when I did pick one up by chance, it burst into flames in my hands. No reason for it to have, but it did. I couldn't take the pressure anymore." Police Chief Pavneli was a man of six-foot-two, but who slumped forward to a mere five-foot-ten. His face was weathered and hard, slightly tanned and cropped black hair on his head, slowly growing gray in a few areas from his stressed years out in the field.

"Really, because I can say I have never encountered such a situation. Actually I wanted to talk with Yekaterina about one of his songs he wrote. I have it with me right now."

"Is that so? May I see it?"

The younger man reached into his coat pocket to pull it out when he felt a chill shoot through his spine. Even Pavneli did, because his face paled and his eyes flickered around every-which-way before settling at the farthest row to the back. A small child glowered at them, no, _him_! Alfred looked away as though he hadn't noticed the boy, but withdrew his hand and rubbed the back of his head. "Nah, I really need to speak with the family first. I'm sure you understand."

The elder swallowed, "Y-yes. Of course."

He excused himself and looked to the back row, but the boy was gone now. Seriously, ghosts scared the shit out of him for that reason alone. They were like ADHD, but they teleported instead of ran on the walls. He needed the cold air anyway. _Natural_ cold air. He stepped outside to see a tall young man in a heavy, crocheted scarf waiting for him. He stopped cold. The man had an innocuous, puerile appearance, the dour mood gone, as though it had never been there.

The two watched each other for a moment before the taller strode away into the snow and disappeared, a small, bell-like laugh on the frozen wind.


	7. Chapter 6: Whyntir's Curse

**A/N: Okay, away with school, STORY!**

* * *

He swore as he bumped his leg on yet another backstage prop thing in the darkness that came before the lighted greenroom. Why was it called a _greenroom_ anyway? This one was _white!_ Nothing green about that, but whatever. It had green trim . . . why was it always _green!_ Regardless, he stepped in to find the sisters talking, Natalya was putting on her sister's makeup and they chatted softly, slowly. Way unlike those T.V. shows with garrulous girls spilling their secrets the ruled the media nowadays. The younger looked up at his appearance, a slight blush on her usually pale cheeks as her stoic mien faltered. Katyusha turned to him, a soft crepuscular glow lingered about her as she smiled warmly to him and stood.

"Alfred, Djavakhi told us that you had something for us. Is it a clue?" she was so excited that she took both his hands in hers in a form of blandishment.

He smiled gently, "I guess that you can say that. Have you been to the house recently?"

"Yes. Every Christmas. Why?"

He pulled out the song, "I found this. What caught my attention is this."

The sisters assayed the back of the page their eyes widening as they read the hurried scrawl. Natalya looked up quickly, "Where did you find this?"

"In the bedroom. It was on the piano."

"I have gone through all those written pages, _ALL_! I have never seen this before. I don't understand."

"I'm sorry. I swear I did not write that."

"I know you didn't," Katyusha's voice softly slid in, "That's Vanya's writing. I know." Slowly, her blue eyes met his, "C-could he still be alive?"

"I don't kno-."

"No," Natasha's whisper seemed louder than it should have, "He's gone. Dead. Never coming back." Her eyes met his, but they seemed different, a violet, death-glazed sheen in the background. He felt someone else there; _he_ was there.

Katyusha opened her mouth, but suddenly the lights flickered twice. Two minutes to show. She looked between the two, "I'm sorry, I have to get to the stage."

She ran from the room, leaving Alfred with the younger, her body possessed by her brother. It was scarier than shit. Maybe he needed an exorcist, because she looked demonic! How crazy was her brother!

The smaller body suddenly was a mere inch before him, startling him back, but he hadn't noticed that he was against a wall, keeping him from moving. Natalya/Ivan smiled at him, a small, suppressed giggle escaping their lips. "Why the terrified look Alfred? You can sense me, can't you. You're much like your small friend."

"H-he's a cousin."

"Oh how cute~!" another laugh, but then the girl's face went stoic, "Death is a cold place Alfred Jones. It's icy shards dig as knives, yet the unending cold is what makes it tolerable. The everlasting numb of the body, it's so unnatural."

Alfred saw the clouds in the eyes shift.

"Why do you take your sister's body?"

"Hm~?" the head tilted to the side, "Without a foothold within the living world, my travels home are fugacious. My sister's heart, dedicated to my entire being, is warm enough to house my simple soul."

"But that's-!"

A hand rose to him, cutting him off, "Your cavil is not one I wish to hear. What I do is none of your concern."

"Then may I ask?"

"Depends upon the question."

"Why did you not want the chief to see the paper?"

Cold eyes stared back, "he sealed the deal, signed the contract. His soul is _mine_ when he passes through to my side. His days are numbered, as are all those who live, but I have the patience of stone and the time of the phoenix. I can wait forever for his passing to the other side, but until then, I will bide my time and amuse my afterlife with thoughts of his anguish."

"Wow," Alfred blinked, "That's . . . um . . . sadistic."

He/she laughed softly, "I find it an excellent way to pass the time."

"What do you mean by _' he sealed the deal'_? That doesn't make sense. Who did he sign this deal with?"

Far off eyes, "Whyntir, he sealed the deal with Whyntir." The smaller sighed, brushing light blond hair away from his/her face, "I must go. My power wears thin."

"Wait! What do you mean he sealed a deal with winter!"

But the violet faded from the blue eyes that rolled up into the host's head. Alfred caught her just as she began to fall. Natalya was out cold. Carefully he placed her into a chair and left her be. He had some things to think about. Cautiously, he exited the greenroom to the back exit and gingerly made his way to the front. He saw the car was running and what looked like a very fed up Arthur was muttering behind the wheel. He stepped over to the passenger side door and knocked, startling the Englishman. The doors unlocked and he slipped into the warm car.

"Where the bloody hell have you been you wanker!"

Alfred sighed, "Sorry. I had a really creepy conversation with Natalya, or should I say _Ivan_." He could see the gleam in his friend's eyes so he recounted the brief, yet creepy, conversation.

* * *

Alfred sat before his old fashion typewriter, typing out his report of the night. As he reached the last line of '_Winter_', he couldn't help but feel that this was a riddle, like Ivan couldn't tell him exactly what happened. He was taken during the winter. _All_ the children were taken during the winter. He took a drag on his cigarette before something clicked in his mind. What if _Winter_ wasn't _winter_?

He ran a mental list through of all of the associates he knew of the Police Chief, yet none had the name winter. He was just about to give up and call it a night when he recalled a man he had run into during his Academy days. The man had a gray mustache that was bordering on white and was a giant in his own right, towering at six-foot-eight. The man's eyes were a frozen gray that pierced the soul and had left him with jelly for legs. He had asked the student where he could find the Chief before the assembly of inauguration into the school. He called himself winter . . . no, _Whyntir_.

* * *

**A/N: Hahaha, I HAD to, it was just too much fun. Yes Mr. Whyntir is actually General Winter from the canon media, but I HAD to put in my own little twist. Anywho, review pwease~!**


	8. Chapter 7: Survivors' Interview

**A/N: Okay, so, I am now creating an updating schedule. This will be my last update (maybe) for this story for the month. I am going to have to have a really orthodox schedule since my mind is . . . well . . . orthodox. I will focus solely on ONE story per month, but my uploads will be sporadic to say the least. Next month I will be focusing on A House Divided, so if you read that one too, yay. You can celebrate. If I finish the story within the next month, I'll come back to this one and hopefully get it finished. If you're curious about how much more there is, we are about halfway done. I really want a slight romance between Ghost Ivan and Alfred. We'll see though.**

* * *

He knew the man now, but after looking through all of the records in town, he could safely assume the man did not live there. He phoned in the city and received similar results. He threw his paper ball into the air as he thought through the situation. Whyntir wasn't from the area; even through the neither county nor state systems could he get anything on the guy. He was just about ready to call the Feds and ask about it. Then again, those guys were always too busy to even give a bit of information. Like that one guy who always talked in a valley-girl accent . . . That he suddenly seemed to know from somewhere.

"_Come on Toris!"_

In the snow, in the dark.

"_We can totally make it like this!"_

In the snow, in the dark. Afraid. So afraid. The voice shook, from the cold or fear, it was indecipherable. Feliks was the boy's name. He knew a man named Feliks who worked in the FBI; Feliks Łukasiewicz. Quickly he snatched up the phone.

"_Hello, this is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. How may I help you?"_ a woman's voice asked, crisp and clean.

"Yes, hello. I am Police officer Alfred F. Jones and I need to get a hold of FBI Agent Feliks Łukasiewicz."

There was a heavy sigh at the other end for whatever reason, _"As you wish sir. One moment please."_ There was a second's wait before a recognizable voice answered.

"_Tak? __Łukasiewicz speaking."_

Alfred leaned back, "Hey Feliks, this is Alfred Jones, you remember me from a few years back?"

"_Hm, oh yea! I totally remember you. Like, how have you been? Oh, and those twenty bucks, like, totally save my ass. Like, seriously, thanks!"_

"Hey no problem," the American laughed as carefree as possible, "Anyway, I have a case sitting in my lap that's as cold as the North Pole and a sliver of a lead has lead me to be calling you."

"_Really?"_ he could hear papers shuffling, but they weren't nervious, _"Like, what do ya need? I can get you background checks, telephone records, the works."_

"Actually, this case may involve you. Quite directly actually."

"_Whao, what do you mean _'involve'_ me? I didn't do nothing."_

Alfred waved his hand as though trying to fan the other's bad mood away, "whoa, whoa, didn't say you did Feliks. May I simply ask you one question and just say yes or no, depending on your answer I'll ask another or let you do your job. 'kay?"

He could see the shrug, _"Yeah, sounds fair. Shoot."_

"Do you, or did you know anyone by the name Toris?"

"_Yeah. He's my partner. Toris __Laurinaitis."_

He scribbled down the name, quickly, "Alright. How long have you two known each other?"

"_Since I was, like, rea__lly little. Seven I belive. Yeah, totally seven."_

Feliks was only eighteen, but he was a genius in the Academy. That was when the two of them had first met, though in passing. Only three years ago did they actually become aquainted during a joint investigation that he and Arthur were in with Feliks. At the time, Toris was not there, but the Polish blonde had told them that he had a partner as well. What boggled Alfred's mind was how high they scored on their exams back in the academy. When it came to self-preservation and tense, sort of worst-possible-situation events, they scored perfect one hundreds. The academy could rightfully boast of having the best scores on sections of the test. Now that he thought about it, he did know Toris, though never met him in recent years.

"Could you describe him to me?"

"_Tall, but not over six feet. His hair is shoulder length an__d brown and his eyes are green."_

"_Two-out-of-three, remember that rule Toris?" _. . ._ The boy from before, with the long brown hair_ . . . _His dark hair reached his shoulders and his green eyes shined in determination._

"What was the Two-out-of-three rule?" Had that just slipped?

There was silence at the other side of the phone, Alfred just barely making out the rustle of paper clenched between shaking hands. Short, rapid breathes passed through as Feliks recalled the darkness, the fear, and the pain. Two-out-of-three. Two –out-of-three. Two-out-of-three had made it.

"_Where did you get that information? Did . . . Did Ivan escape? Is he there with you!"_

His ocean blue eyes widened, even though everything pointed to Feliks being the one he was looking for, it still dropped his stomach to his feet and his heart lodging itself in his throat. Quickly, he pulled himself closer to his desk and lowered his voice, "Is it possible for you and Toris to come out here sometime. I don't think the phones are secure."

A pause, _"Yeah, we can totally get out there. Like, when do you need us?"_

"How about I call you on my cell phone once I get out of the office, okay?"

"_Right, that makes sense."_ The other relayed his own personal number and they hung up. As Alfred placed the phone back in its cradle, he suddenly noticed the thin sheen of perspiration on his hands as they shook slightly. He was so close.

* * *

Once back at the apartment, he dialed the number he had written down on his hand.

"_Tak, Feliks."_

"Hey, are you alone?"

"_I'm with Toris. I told him about . . . our earlier conversation. We decoded to come see ya ASAP, so were about an hour from the city."_

Alfred blinked. They were as eager as he was to understand what was going on, "Alright. How about I meet you at the Starbucks on Main Street?"

"_Totally. Um, Toris wants to talk to you."_ Alfred heard a soft, _'here he is'_ as the phone was passed oved.

"_Hello, Alfred right? Why are you contacting us? You can save the details when we meet, but give me the overall now so I know at least an outline of what is going on."_ The man's voice was soft, yet tense. Nervious, but confident. Above all however, scared. But brave.

"I'm taking over the Braginsky Case and something has led me to you."

"_Ivan."_ His voice was only a breath.

* * *

A sweet waitress, her hair a bright blonde and tired in a ribbon, wearing a dress placed his cup of coffee on the table as Alfred waited for the FBI Agents to show up. "You look tired Alfred, is everything alright at work?"

He hummed graciously as he sipped the black liquid, "Yeah, I may have made a break in the case I'm currently working, but I'm waiting for some people to show up. Can I make a request?"

"Sure, I'll do what I can."

"Can you keep the tables around us clear? I don't want someone to listen in."

She gasped, a hand to her mouth, "Is this one of those _risky_ jobs they put you boys through!"

He smiled weakly, "You can call it that."

* * *

Less than twenty minutes later, two men walked into the shop. Snow fll in drifts outside and completely covered their shoulder's and hats. They were in plain clothes meant for warmth, just as Alfred was. The second he saw them, they immediately took on their childish appearances. Their faces had thinned out and they had grown, but otherwise they had not changed a bit. They saw him and immediately walked over. Alfred stood and shook both their hands.

"I'm glad you made it okay. The snow is heavy this year," Alfred commented sitting back down as the other two took their seats.

Feliks waved his hand, pushing the subject away, "It's, like, totally nothing."

Toris leaned forward, straight to the point, "How do you know about the rule? Feliks told me on our way here. The only way you would know about it is from us, or if you were there. And if you were there, you wouldn't be asking."

"Yeah. This is going to sound crazy."

Feliks chuckled darkly, "_Nothing_ is crazy to us anymore."

In the matter of ten minutes, Alfred told them everything, from how he had become interested in the case by listening to Yekaterina's singing, how his chief was friends with the family and how he had given up the case, to his visit to the house and the vision of Ivan in front of him.

"You aren't crazy," Toris defended when Alfred paused for a drink of his cooling coffee, "Ivan . . . isn't one who would let himself go. Not even after death."

His blue eyes flashed as he slowly placed the cup on the table, "So you think he's a ghost?"

"I know."

"Then that's comforting," he joked lightly, "I picked up one of his songs after I got my senses together. Actually, I have it with me." He pulled the paper out of his inside pocket and let the other two pore over it. They handed it back once finished with their reading, Toris wringing his hands worried while Feliks licked his dry lips nervously. The American continued, "When I first read it, I had visions of what happened. In one of them, the longest one, both of you were in it. You were both housed with Ivan in his cell and you," he motioned at Toris, "you got out somehow."

"I was in league with one of the guards. He wasn't a bad guy, he was just as scared as we were," the brunet worried his bottom lip, "He moved the bar cutters from a storage room somewher in the building, meybe even outside, and put them in a solitare cell in the pillow case. He then made up an excuse to put me there and I snapped through the bars before getting to the others."

"Do you mind if I write this down?"

"No, not at all."

He pulled out his note pad and wrote down everything as the brunet repeated his statement. "Can you tell me his name? I can promise that he will not have charges brought against him if I can help it."

"Mathius. I forget his last name for my life. He was from Denmark with red-brown hair, that's all I can remember."

"That's more than enough."

"It was Ivan," the Pole mused softly, "He showed you what happened."

"Also, that song was written while he was imprisoned."

"So he came back and rewrote it."

"That's the only reasonable assumption."

* * *

Violet eyes peered at them through the window, but they were too wrapped up in their conversation to feel his presence. Still, a small smile stretched his thin, pale lips as they came a few steps closer. Just a few. But his eyes stayed trained on the police officer, Alfred Jones. His blue eyes were beautiful as they changed shade with his thoughts. He was such an open book, but the story was breath taking.

After eight years of nothing but numbing cold and the feeling of hollowness, he felt the soft flutter in his chest. It wasn't a heart beat, since a pulse would never pound through his body again, but it warmed him up ever so slightly. It was such a good feeling, this warmth. This Hope. He had forgotten what it truly felt like. He really had.

* * *

Alfred suddenly sat straight, "Do you know where you were?"

The Lithuanian shook his head, "Not if you're asking for a town or anything."

Feliks nodded in agreement with his partner, "All we can tell you was that we were up North."

"That's not really helpful."

"By _North_ we mean _Canada_."

* * *

**A/N: Hahaha, comments on my name choice. Crash course on the history of my penname XD. Long ago back in middle school, I role-played too much than is healthy for any sane human being. One of my characters I created had the name Winter (this is well before Hetalia, I'm sorry). My buddy had then wormed herself into my judgment and piqued my interests with reminding me how some names are spelt totally different from how they are said. That was when I came up with Whynter. Immediately after that I added the **_**I**_** to make Whyntir. Hence, I came into being ^^. So I don't know who came first, who is the chicken, who is the egg. No one knows. Either way, I wanted to make a distinct difference between the season and the person. That way Alfred could have that little revelation and a tinge of irony on how Ivan described the way death was. Last chapter he described death as a harsh winter, the man's name is Whyntir. Yeah. I'm weird like that ^^.**


	9. Chapter 8: Lost in the Snows

Alfred pondered what he had learned from his meeting with the FBI Agents. They were staying at a hotel for the night since the storm had picked up, Alfred just barely making it back to his apartment through the imbeciles that came out, solely for the purpose of killing you in the snow. Why was it that people drove with deadly intent when the weather was bad? They sucked to begin with!

But they had been in Canada, how were they transported there without anyone noticing? You didn't just jump the border with kids, did you? It _had_ been done before. But he found it disturbing that the one border that was unprotected was the one they were crossing. And this man Whyntir was in the middle of whatever was going on. Slowly, for the first time all day, he picked up his cell phone and pressed three until it started calling his brother.

"_Alfred?"_ There was some noise in the background, a television playing.

"Hey Mattie, busy?" Alfred asked, still in thought.

"_Not really. Something wrong? You're quiet,"_ his brother asked, he could hear the noise drop steadily.

"Not really wrong, but I was wondering if you can call someone about looking into the Government records on residents."

"_What for? Got a case hat reaches to my neck of the woods?"_

"Exactly," the American grinned, "I'm looking for a man named Whyntir."

"_Alright, how about I call you back once I get the information."_

"That'll be fine. Thanks bro. I'll meet up with you when you find something."

"_If I find something"_

"Touché, but I'm sure you will. You're awesome that way Mattie."

"_I'm touched,"_ the voice was teasing, but he could hear the warm smile that seeped into his voice.

The two hung up and Alfred was left to himself once again. It was, in one word, traumatizing. All he could do was keep thinking about this, now, international crime. But it did make sense. Children taken, never to be found again, that are really over the border and well out of the reach of the federal government. And getting through the border would be almost too easy. That was probably why they indulged themselves without worry.

"Alfred, you're home," Arthur said surprised, making his way from his room.

The American smiled slightly, "Yeah, I'm back. How was your day?"

"Uh, alright. Uh, Alfred . . ."

"FINALLY!" a childish voice shouted from behind the older Englishman who jumped away to reveal a small, eight year old boy who held a strong resemblance to Arthur. It was Peter Kirkland, Arthur's baby brother who, in all honesty, denied his feelings for the elder vehemently. But Alfred was sure the younger was going through that _Family sucks_ phase that every kid went through.

The boy ran to Alfred and gave him a hug, "Where have you been all day! I've been bored to death by Artie's constant boringness!"

"Good to see you too Peter," Alfred laughed and patted the blonde hair, "I've been working on a case."

"Really? How old is it?"

"Twelve years."

"Much closer to thirteen than twelve now," Arthur interjected as he made his way to the kitchen, "I guessed that you had forgotten the fact that today is New Years Eve. You've been so horribly wrapped up in that case. I realize your trying to help some poor restless spirit and his family, but you have your own family right here you git."

Alfred blinked a few times, New Years Eve . . . tonight? He had gotten the case on the twenty-ninth at the Concert, began on the thirtieth where he had almost fainted with how Ivan possessed his sister's body. Wit, that was yesterday. It was the thirty-first. His head reeled. This was a very fast paced case and was warping all senses of time that he had before . . . if he did have any before that is. He laughed, "Ah, you're right. I totally forgot. I guess I shouldn't ask why Peter's here then. Your mom really likes spending the holidays alone, doesn't she?"

"Yes, well, I always believed she should have stopped after Dillon, but no. We just _had_ to add a fourth terror to the family. What's worse is that she dumps him on me when he could very well go to Angus. He _is_ the oldest and _most successful_ one as she loves to point out every bloody time I see her."

Arthur's family was a mess, ever since his mother's first husband died in World War Two; she had fallen into a depression and a slight degree of bipolarized behavior. It turned out that he was a Scotsman and the father of Arthur's elder brother Angus. After that she had a one night stand with an Englishman and Arthur came into being as a bastard child. A fact neither of his brothers allowed him to live down. Two years after Arthur's birth, his mother married an Irish man and she gave birth to Dillon, but they divorced four years later. Peter was, ironically, the only one to have a blood brother. Alfred's aunt had somehow found the same Englishman and repeated her previous actions. She was a mess, yes. The rest of the family kept their distance, not really wanting to intermingle with such a shameless woman. Everyone knew her as a whore, but for her life style, she was surprisingly beautiful. Pale skin and naturally rosy lips with the most beautiful green eyes anyone had ever seen. Come to think of it, Arthur had inherited those gorgeous emerald orbs.

"Hey, don't worry about it Artie," Alfred smiled, "You're the one they all look up to anyway."

"Pfft, yeah right," Peter scoffed, only to receive a sharp whack to the head by Alfred giving a look of _'Not helping!'_

Suddenly, the American's phone went off. He hastily picked up the device and answered, knowing who it was, "Hey Mattie, did you find anything?"

"_Actually, I did. Though there isn't a lot I'm afraid. What I can tell you is, if you are hoping to prosecute him in Canada and America, you'll be hard pressed. He was a war hero of the European Theatre and once Hitler had fallen, he transferred to the American military and fought for the remaining war. They even quoted him in his reason why he did such a daring move,"_ Alfred heard papers rustling.

"Did you actually get the files!"

"_Yeah, the guy lives in my district, which is disturbing if he really has something to do with all those missing children. Anyway, he was dubbed the purest form of Nationalism and a hero of all countries."_

"Oh god."

"_What is it?"_

"Every single one of those kids he took . . ."

"_Yeah? Alfred, I don't get what-."_

"All of them were foreigners. Feliks was Polish, Toris was Lithuanian, Meimei was Chinese, or Taiwanese, whatever, and Elizabeta was Hungarian. They all had foreign backgrounds," his eyes widened in sheer terror, "Oh shit!"

"_Alfred, you aren't making any sense with that connection. Maybe you're looking too deep into the situation,"_ still, worry tainted the other's voice.

"Nationalism can be dangerous. And it makes perfect sense why he would come _here_! We got folks from all over the world here in the town and in the city. Even Russians . . . neither the Cold War, nor racial discrimination affect this one little place. They all come here, and they all disappear."

He knew Matthew could piece it together, but he would be silent seeing as he couldn't really judge either course. _"So when can I expect you here?"_

Alfred bit his lip. He'd leave right then if it wasn't for the snow storm, also, it was a holiday and he could not, not spend it with Arthur and Peter. "Next week, I should be able to get through by then. The storm is pretty heavy. Oh, and happy early New Years."

A chuckle floated through the phone, _"Alright. I'll be waiting for you. And Happy Early New Years to you too."_

He hung up his phone and stared at the wall for a few moments. He had a motive, though orthodox, was liable. Radical Nationalism was dangerous, very dangerous. And that explained why he was safe. He was of a minority in this town: An American. And the kidnapping of foreign children, never to be seen again: a scare tactic to keep them in line.

The doorbell rang and Alfred was snapped out of his thoughts to Arthur running for the door. Peter groaned from the next room over, "It's not your _boyfriend_ again, is it?"

"Bloody- shut up Peter! And be nice to Francis," the Englishman snapped, "Unless you want _me_ to cook tonight."

Peter raised his hands in surrender, "I never said I didn't like Francis!"

With a sigh, Arthur opened the door to reveal the baker with a small bouquet of roses and dressed rather smartly in a charcoal tweed suit under a black trench coat with polished black shoes and a matching, dark grey fedora and scarf. Alfred had to admit, the Frenchman could pass for a millionaire.

"_Bonjour mon cher, Arthur._ It is rather horrid outside with all that snow," the Frenchman commented, stepping into the small apartment while taking off his hat with his free hand.

Arthur took the other's jacket and hung it up before snatching the hat and doing the same motions, "I would suspect so. Think you can make it back to your place, or will you be staying here for the night? I wouldn't want you to get into a car accident."

"Of course not, who would cook for you then?" he teased, only to get a red faced Englishman punching him in his arm.

"My cooking isn't _that _bad!" he muttered defensively.

"You gave me food poisoning," Peter's voice called from the kitchen.

Alfred nodded, "Yeah, and I had to go to the ER to get my stomach pumped."

Arthur looked down, wanting to shrink, or die, or maybe just turn invisible like . . . Alfred's brother . . . damn it what was that boy's name! A hand snaked itself around his waist causing his face to go even more red. "I think that is enough for poor Arthur, I fear he might just break down with all your cruel words. Come along _mon cher_, those two villains can say what they wish. No matter if you can genocide an entire civilization with your cooking, I love you all the same." That received him another punch to the arm.

* * *

_Five days later_

Peter seemed really out of it. He was gaining dark circles under his eyes and he looked around himself suspiciously. Arthur couldn't tell what was wrong, when he found his little brother looking out an open window at night, the boy's only explanation was that he heard knocking on the window. When he looked out, he saw himself. He was terrified of going back to sleep, swearing that it wasn't his reflection. He saw himself, his skin sickly pale and his sky blue eyes were clouded over with white film like in those horror movies where the person was dead, but when he opened the window, they disappeared. Arthur insisted it was just the snow through the glass that caused the appearance, but it didn't help the young boy.

Arthur placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, "Why don't we go down to Francis' bakery and get something sweet for desert tonight? What do you say?"

"Yeah, okay," a small smile tweaked the courners of his lips, though he was utterly nervous. They left in the car and headed towards the market.

Arthur swore he hadn't been in the store that long. He checked his watch, he was right. Only five minutes and he had the éclairs the two of them had decided on, but Peter was no where to be found. He called his brother's name, no answer. Worried, he went back to Francis.

"Frog!" he shouted, "Did you see where Peter went?"

Francis blinked, "_Non_, I thought he was still with you."

Now the Englishman started worrying his bottom lip, "He isn't. Actually, he's gone." His eyes widened, "You don't think-."

"I would pray not . . ." The Frenchman turned to the backroom, "Chelle, could you watch the shop?"

A young woman with olive skin and blue eyes, her hair dark brown pulled into loose ponytails with two red bows at wither end, "Of course Francis. I hope Peter's okay."

"As do I," the Frenchman muttered solemnly before pulling off his apron and hat and replacing them with his fedora and heavy coat before the two blondes left the bakery, asking anyone if they had seen Peter and calling his name. After an hour, they realized he was gone for good.

* * *

**A/N: I feel so horrible for this, but I want Arthur to have more of a role than he was having. So enjoy~.**


	10. Chapter 9: Prison Cell

**A/N: OH JEEZ! I realized AFTER this month rolled in and was well settled that I was so horrible with my cliff-hanger and tied because I had to write my other story I promised for this moth. To correct the situation, I asked the minimum of chapters and I settled for six, well the six are up and I can write this! Oh please forgive me. XD

* * *

**

Alfred looked up as he heard the door close. Arthur had been out a while that day; Alfred wondered what was going on. He shrugged, waiting for Peter to come bursting through his door and pester him about why he was packing and the works, being the child that he was. When the blonde child failed to appear of cue, the American was getting worried. He opened his door to see the rooms were dark and it sounded like someone was crying. Fear gripped his stomach, was it Arthur? The lights flicked on with the snap of the switch to show the Englishman hugging a piece of cloth to his chest and crying freely, at closer inspection, it was Peter's hat. Alfred approached slowly, not wanting to believe it was real.

"Arthur?" he whispered, "Where's Peter?"

"I don't know," he whimpered, burying his face in the hat and curling up against Alfred who quickly wrapped an arm around him. "He was there, I turned around a moment and then he was gone. I-I don't know what happened. Oh god Alfred, where could he be? He was right behind me, I swear. H-how could he be gone?" He wailed a sob as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Where was his little brother?

Alfred didn't know what to say. Could it be Whyntir, he didn't know. He felt his own panic rising, wherever Peter was, he could be anywhere from across the border to another state! What could he do?

"_Perhaps I can help?"_ a voice on the wind inquired. The American felt his blood run cold. He knew this voice. He turned to where he had heard it from and saw the window. It was slightly open, despite the cold air rushing through, but he didn't notice it until now. His eyes widened as he saw, in the frost on the window, a circle with two dots and a smiling face. It was something a child would do. It smiled at him happily, despite how scared he was over everything. Then a little, smiling face popped into the window. Alfred found himself standing against his will and opening the widow.

Through a gust of wind and snow, a boy appeared in their living room smiling innocently, but a gleam in his eyes spoke volumes of a different sort. He looked quite malicious actually. Arthur stared at the boy before getting on his knees before the specter. "Peter, do you know what happened to him? Please, please tell me he's safe!" he pleaded to the ghost.

"Alive," he affirmed, "Alive . . . for now. He's no longer here, and he'll be with me soon enough."

"Don't say that," Alfred glared to the boy. Ivan appeared to be six now, but as wise as any hundred-year-old man. Well, a man from hell. The child's eyes held that demonic gleam of someone who wants to hurt you and torment you in any unorthodox way he could imagine. Alfred needed his help, but didn't trust him any more than he could, well, touch him.

The child looked reproached, "I'm sorry, I was simply telling you where he was."

"So Whyntir did take him?" the Englishman asked, looking almost dead with how pale his face and hands had become.

"I am afraid so."

Alfred paced, wringing his hands nervously. "What did you mean with you? Do you think they'll kill him that fast?"

"No," he shook his head before closing his eyes, "He's asleep, drugged to keep him from fighting. It's cold, he's already across the border."

Alfred left the room. He knew where to go.

* * *

The car pulled up to the two story house that Matthew owned, as it was, the older brother was in his front yard, scattering salt on the newly scraped pavement as to soak up the water to keep it from freezing any more. Alfred stepped out of the driver's side door, and raised his hand in greeting. The two hadn't seen each other since their mother had died when they were twelve. Their father was Canadian and Mattie went to live with him, but Alfred never really liked the man since the divorce when they were really young. As such, he opted to live with his mother's sister and Arthur.

Matthew walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry about Peter. We'll find him. I have no doubts."

"I wish we had a bit more help though," Alfred muttered. He caught the sight of Ivan in front of the house, now eighteen. Couldn't the ghost stay one age, and it had a gross incapability of talking in anything less than riddles. All he could say straight out was that Peter was still alive, it was plain really.

Matthew nodded, "How about we take a look at those files I got and then head out?"

"Sounds good." When Alfred turned back to look at the ghost, he was gone.

* * *

How did he get here? He was scared! Could he go home now? The people here looked so mean; one even backhanded him across the face. The bruise on his right cheek lingered and the pain felt fresh, even if it had been three days since then. Three days since he had been with Arthur buying éclairs. He couldn't remember anything really.

* * *

"_Arthur?" he called timidly as his elder brother headed towards the bakery, "Can I look in the toy store?"_

_The green eyes watched him carefully, "Alright, don't get lost. And don't take anything without paying like you did last time."_

"_It was an acc-!"_

"_I know. You were three. Go on ahead, but be out here in five."_

_Peter nodded and went into the toy store. There were so many cool toys! Toy guns and soldiers, play aeroplanes and tanks, but those would be for another day. He wanted to get Arthur something since he would be going away to a boarding school come May. He highly doubted he would see his big brother again, so maybe something to be remembered by wasn't a bad idea. He inched out of the toy store and ran across the street to a jewelry shop. He looked around before settling on a procaine plate with a unicorn carved into the back with small fairies flying by. It was hand painted and looked great. He peeked at the price tag: thirty-two dollars. He grinned; he had saved up forty from his allowance at home and rummaging through the couch cushions. He turned to be met with the window and a boy watching his from the outside. He looked tiny, smaller than him, and tired, perhaps nervous._

_What made his blood go cold was the fact that the child wasn't looking at the displays, but at him, the violet eyes warning him of something he couldn't understand. He had seen the boy before; through his window one night, before he started seeing the images. The boy had been calling his name, but when he went to go see what he wanted, he disappeared and a white owl flew away. Then the images and messages started coming. He told Arthur about the pictures that tormented him, but the older said it was nothing, so he left the words alone. Every night though, they told him, they told him and he didn't listen._

'Don't go out alone.'

'You are in danger.'

'Don't open your windows.'

'Lock all entrances at night.'

'Don't go to any strangers.'

'He is watching you.'

_The boy watched him now, saddened. He lifted his hand and, using his finger, wrote on the slush-covered window._

'I told you to never be alone.'

_He hesitantly stepped closer to the window and whispered to the other boy, "Why? I don't understand. Who is watching me?"_

'Whyntir.'

_He wanted to ask more, but the boy suddenly grabbed at his own face. First, it looked as though he was rubbing his eyes, then blood started to seep between his fingers, his nails digging into his soft flesh and ripping it open with his bare hands. Peter backed away in fright as the child began screaming in agony and frustration. The English boy wanted the other to stop wailing. He covered his ears from the terrible noise and looked around to see if anybody was coming to help, but no one heard the screams. He looked back to the boy on the other side of the window, now watching him with gaping holes instead of eyes, blood trailing down his face like tears and staining his scarf as he smiled sadly to Peter. What frightened the blonde even more was the fact that the ashen haired boy was now _inside_ the store; when had he come inside? He hadn't heard the bell ring for someone to enter._

"_Why didn't you listen to me?" the eyeless asked in a voice that seemed as cold as ice._

"_What-what?"_

_The boy sighed, the blood running faster, "I thought I could save one of you; at least one. Why do none of you listen?"_

_Peter blinked, not knowing what to say to this eyeless, demonic child. He began to back away only to have the smaller boy grip his jacket roughly, "Why! Why do none of you listen! You're all naïve and now you'll die, just like the others! All of you, none listened to me, why?" the child screamed, the blood staining Peter's clothing as they flowed down his face in streams. Peter dropped the gift he was holding in his hands and it shattered upon the ground._

_"Get away from me!" the blonde boy screamed, shoving the other away before running out the door. He never saw the man waiting outside the door for him to exit with a cloth in hand. He couldn't comprehend the darkness that blocked out the dying light of the sun, nor understand why he was no longer off his feet. Still, being in his panicked state, Peter fought against whoever held him. He kicked and attempted to scream only to have a hand placed over his mouth. He bit down as hard as he could and the man loosened his grip, pulling his hand away. Peter managed to squirm away for a moment ad could see the ashen haired boy, the only witness with his gaping eye sockets. Then everything went black._

_The only thing left was a hat in the snow.

* * *

_

"Are you alright?" a child-like voice asked from the shadows. Peter jumped and turned to the origin of the voice. A boy, around his age, sat in the shadows. The blonde's breath caught in his throat. He had the same violet eyes and ashen hair as the other boy he saw before him, but he was taller and dirty, and still with his eyes. His scarf had seen much better days and the clothes he wore had holes and worn thin. He seemed more approachable than the younger boy who had physically assaulted him at the jewelry store so he moved closer and nodded.

"Yes, I'm alright," Peter muttered, sitting beside the taller boy, "What's your name?"

"Ivan Braginsky. Who are you?"

He smiled, despite himself, "Peter Kirkland. What are we doing here?"

"I'm not sure exactly," Ivan shrugged, "They usually hold you until you let your guard down, then they start hurting you."

"Hurting! How?"

"Depends. They'll beat you, or perhaps rape you hard and dry. It is a painful place here where they scare and beat you into submission," the older explained with a sigh, but he looked defiantly out the window, "Though, there is a way out."

Peter's eyes lit up, "How?"

"Many of the guards are just as scared as we are, and some of them are willing to help us break out. It's been done quite recently too, though I'd wait a while before trying. Guards will be tight for a while," Ivan annotated, "Tino Väinämöinen and one of the guards, Berwald Oxenstierna, ran away together. Tino was eight when he was brought here nine years ago. I was surprised he lived this long, probably because Berwald liked him and everyone is scared of Berwald. Or was, 'was' is more appropriate since he is gone."

Peter nodded as he listened to the other ramble on before interjecting, "I'm eight!"

"I'm ten. Been here four years."

"I won't be here for that long," Peter said defiantly, more to himself than to Ivan, "Alfred and my big brother Arthur will come find me. They're detectives. They'll come and get me."

Ivan smiled softly, "I'm sure they will."

"And they'll save everybody, and you too Ivan. You'll be free too."

"I hope so."

They sat together for a while in silence before Peter lay his head on Ivan's shoulder, burying his face in his scarf and closing his eyes. He was fast asleep in no time from the stress on his juvenile mind. Ivan stared out the window a while after, a song on his lips.

* * *

**A/N: LOVE ME! IT IS DONE!**


	11. Chapter 10: Ice Prison

**A/N: Okay, I will still be writing AHDCSR in between fixing this up, but I MAY be able to finish this story come the beginning of December. Whoot! I hope you enjoy this as much as I do writing it. This makes me so happy~! I predict a total of 18 chapters. This MAY change. Review please? ^^**

* * *

Alfred and Matthew poured over a map on the small dining table that had a detailed picture of the county. A red dot indicated General Whyntir's place of residence, but a blue 'X' crossed it out. Matthew had gone to check the home out before Alfred had arrived; it was empty and a "For Sale" sign hung on it. The guy had bailed a while ago by real estate notes and records, so now they had absolutely no idea where he could have gone.

"How are you sure he's the one you're looking for?" Mattie asked as they stood on the porch watching the snow and ice melt in the hot sun and Alfred had a smoke. Arthur had been in such a depression, all he could ever do was drive into the town three miles away and ask if anyone had seen a boy that matched Peter's description. He even drove farther sometimes, but always came home before dark.

Alfred took a drag on the cigarette, his eyes closed before reopening them and sighing a puff of smoke, "You wouldn't believe me."

"Hey," Matthew smirked, "I believed Arthur when he told me his fairies were watching me in the shower."

"Yeah, but do you still? And for the record, I still believe it."

The two laughed for a moment before Matthew shook his head, "I'm too old to believe in the unreal Alfie."

"Aw, then you wouldn't believe me when I tell you that I know all of this from a ghost of some twelve-year-dead boy who died at this guy's hands and is swearing to time indefinite to torture this man in way Satan could never imagine," Alfred grinned behind his glasses with shining blue eyes.

Matthew blinked twice before laughing, his amethyst eyes closing, "Really Al, what's the real reason?"

"That's it," he stated, grinding the butt between his thumb and forefinger with a quiet hiss before stuffing it in his pocket, he wasn't one to litter, "He was just there and I happened to see him. His eyes look a lot like yours now that I think about it."

Matthew stared for a moment, watching his brother's expressions. He wasn't lying, joking, nothing to give it away. He was as serious as he could ever be, especially when bringing in his eyes. He was the sole inheritor of their mother's violet eyes. Alfred was extremely touchy about their mother, she was not one of those women who kept their head down over anything and wanted to help everyone. Matthew swore that his brother's antics were inherited by their mother whereas he was the quieter one like their father.

"So what are you going to do?"

Alfred looked out to the snow, "Find them; both of them. Maybe, some others are still alive too."

"Yeah," Matthew followed his gaze to the wilderness of snow that was the Canadian winter landscape before squinting behind his own pair of glasses, "Do you see that?"

"Hm?"

"Take off you glasses you dimwit and look! I honestly have no idea why you wear glasses when you have twenty-ten vision!" the elder snapped (1).

Alfred tugged them off reluctantly before looking out to the snow. He saw them, two figures heading towards the solitary house through the snow, one carrying the other. Alfred tugged at his brother's sleeve before running out into the snow with Matthew following not too far behind. As they came closer, Alfred could make out blonde hair and ragged, soaked clothing. They looked absolutely frigid, the smaller was unconscious, his lips a shade of blue and the rest of him pale, the symptoms of stage two hypothermia. The other was tall, his eyes blue and his expression, though tired, was determined. He wasn't shaking, though he looked just as bad as the smaller; not a good sign. He stopped walking, looking at them confused as though not understanding where they had come from.

Alfred stepped forward slowly and placed a hand on the man's shoulder, "I'm Alfred, who are you?"

"Berwald . . . Oxenstierna," he managed with a heavy accent and a slight pause, trying to remember his own name. They had been out in the cold for days by the looks of it.

With a quick glance to Matthew and a nod from the elder Alfred placed on a winning smile, "We're in that house you see straight ahead, you can warm up there." He nodded numbly and they lead him as quick as he could go with frozen muscles to the house.

* * *

When Peter woke up, he was alone in the room. He had never felt the other leave and it worried him. Had _they_ taken him? He didn't know, but the doors opened not long after and a girl was thrust into the room. She was small with long brown hair, her clothing were the remains of a dress that had undergone hell and then some. She was crying and dragging herself across the floor, her leg bleeding badly. Peter jumped up and ran to her, "Hey, what happened?"

"Who?" she asked, her tears pausing for a moment, "Who are you?"

"Peter Kirkland. What happened to your leg?"

She looked down to her limp and badly twisted leg before letting the tears run down her cheeks again, "Meimei. Th-they caught me. I-I went with Tino and Berwald, but I was taking up the rear." Using his Boy Scout skills, Peter took up the end on her dress and ripped a thin piece off of it and wrapped it around the wound. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, but they refused to stop shedding tears, "It is no use Peter, I'll be iced soon enough."

"I-Iced?" he asked in fright. What did that mean iced?"

She pointed out the window, "We face the front, but in the back is a river that freezes over real fast at night. This weather is perfect for icing. It freezes roughly two inches in within a matter of minutes, but that isn't good for them. They wait for it to freeze thoroughly before they cut a hole into the ice and pull it out before throwing you in, pouring in water after you, and covering it back up. Then, you're iced." She began crying again, "I'm going to be iced! I'm so sorry Kiku, Yao! I'm so sorry! I-I just wanted to get back home!"

Peter didn't know how to react; all he knew was that he didn't want to be iced. He didn't want Meimei to be iced, but what could he do? When, or if, Ivan came back, he wanted to ask. He needed to.

* * *

It had been hours, the two frozen males had been placed in their bathtub to defrost. Matthew was with Berwald, watching him carefully since he had fallen into stage three hypothermia where as Tino was easier to care for. Apparently the Swede, as Mattie had matched the accent, had given up his own heat source to keep Tino from progressing into any higher a stage. Alfred ran his hands through his hair, he needed this kid to wake up, maybe, once they were better, they could tell him where they had been held. Maybe. It was farfetched, but he'd go for absolutely anything at this moment in his stressed out life.

"Mmm . . . B-Berwald?" a small voice drifted in the overly heated air.

Alfred sprang up to his feet from the toilet seat lid he had been sitting on to see the small boy had semi-awakened. He looked so much like Ivan that it stole Alfred's breath, but no, Ivan was dead and possessing bodies and being completely unhelpful at this point in his after-life. Alfred felt his forehead, he had warmed up a bit, but the boy didn't respond further. Tino was, at least, coming to.

"He's lucky," a voice behind him made him jump. He turned to see eighteen-year-old Ivan leaning against the wall, "They got the girl though. Just like me."

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked, this seemed to be on a straight path of conversation.

Ivan sighed, "Two-out-of-three made it, but barely. The girl that was with them was shot in the leg and captured. Beaten and branded with the mark of a dead man. She's ten, captive for four long, painful years. She knows what is to become of her, another ghost, another shell, another doll in the frozen wasteland of death."

Slowly he put the clues together. She was ten, held for four years. He knew of one girl who disappeared four years ago: Meimei Wang. He jumped to his feet, "Where are they! You had to have been going there, you knew what was happening! Where is Peter? Is he alright? You better fucking tell me!"

"He's alive, very much alive," Ivan asserted, stepping away from him as though fearing bodily harm, "I have been with him for the night to keep him warm and safe. I was going to go back now."

"WHERE ARE THEY!" he demanded, reaching out at him. Much to both of their surprises, he actually caught cloth and wrenched the taller towards him, "This is the last fucking time I'm asking."

As he blinked, he felt the clothing between his fingers dissipate and he looked down to see a frightened, tearful ten-year-old Ivan holding onto his scarf, "I-I don't know. I don't! I just end up back there. All I know is that the water never melts, it is cold all year, but coldest now, and I know it is to the north, by a few weeks walk. A train is nearby that stops at the town three miles away, but I can't tell you how to get there, the degrees on a map, or even let you follow me there! I just go back. I close my eyes and I am there! Please don't hurt me. Please?" He looked so pitiful, cowering under Alfred. He didn't even know how he had touched to ghost, but now that he knew he could he would use that to his advantage.

"Alright, then tell me why you hate the police chief so bad?" He'd get something out of this!

Ivan looked up angrily, tears sliding over round, pale cheeks, "He looks for them. He looks for all the children. I thought I would be safe since he liked my sister so much, but he wasn't good for her and I made that very clear . . . so he killed me. He killed me!"

Alfred had not expected that. The police chief had access to all the files of every person living in the town, their relatives and family heritage was recorded and everything, it made sense as to why they knew who they wanted too. "Then why did he pick out Peter."

"He wants you off the case, a ransom letter was sent to you," he pulled it out of the thin jacket and timidly placed it on the floor, "I took it, b-because then you would go looking instead of dropping the case."

Alfred looked down at the boy before picking up the letter. He could get his cousin back now with nothing to lose except Ivan's trust and probably gain a few threats of his own for his afterlife. Still, he could give this up and pretend it never happened. But Meimei was there, still alive, and Kiku was his best friend. He turned back to Tino who was turning a healthy shade of pink from the warmth. He had risked everything to get out of there. Arthur would tell him to drop the case, he knew it.

The door opened and Matthew peeked his head in hesitantly, "Berwald . . . didn't make it. He-he told me to check on Tino as soon as I could."

"He's fine," Alfred said deadpan. His body suddenly felt three degrees colder, "C-can you watch him?"

"Yeah." Mattie blinked away the gloss in his eyes. He had never seen a man die before, especially one who was so devoted to another person so closely. He had looked through the Swede's things. He had been a guard of high security access to wherever these children were held and he risked his own life to save this boy. Before his expiration, he told Matthew that his one regret was that he couldn't save all those children. He was a good man, despite what he had been forced to do.

Alfred stepped out of the room, barely noticing the crying ghost-child following him like a baby quail follows its mother. He sat on the couch in the family room and stared at the envelope for the longest time. He made a deal with himself, if he opened the seal, he'd give up the case. He tapped the paper a moment in the palm of his hand before making his decision. He took the top of the paper in his hand and gripped firmly, a part of him not believing he was actually doing this and another coaxing him along.

He tore the entire letter in halves, then fourths, then to uneven bits before discarding it in the trash without once looking at the note. He turned back to the ghost, only to see he had disappeared. Alfred couldn't stop the smile from pulling at the courners of his lips, "Keep them safe."

* * *

Peter awoke again, this time in the dead of night, to the sound of screams down the hall outside his door. Meimei was with him still, much to their surprise and relief. What startled both of them was the added body between them from where they had fallen asleep. Ivan sat erect and awake while they had been laying their heads on his lap. When had he returned, they could careless. What put Peter at ease as well was the fact that Meimei seemed to know him too. The sound of a key in the lock of their door made their blood go cold. Someone was being taken tonight.

Meimei had tears brimming as the key turned and the mechanism clicked, she knew it would be her. Ivan stood and retreated from them to a courner behind where the intruded entered. The other two didn't know what to do. Peter, feeling that same urge that gripped Alfred, held onto her protectively. The guard came into the room, shackles in his hand as he leered at the small girl. He stepped in and closed the door, by doing so, Peter and Meimei could now see Ivan wielding a lead pipe.

"Close your eye," he said, though the man didn't seem to hear. The two children obeyed however and covered their ears for good measure. They never heard the crushing of bones that haunted the walls of the cell. Once it was over, he led them out to the hallways.

"Wh-where are we going?" Meimei whispered, not wanting anyone to know what was happening, but Ivan went to the next door and unlocked it.

"We're getting out. Someone is waiting for us."

* * *

**A/N: That's right Ivan! Take control! XD I'm sorry, I am totally Sweden/Finland but I couldn't have everyone live. I wanted to cry when I did that. :( Also, since Arthur still has the power to see ghosts and fairies, Alfred can touch them if he has the mind to. Alfred has the effect of revolution, even to dead souls ^o^ Anyway, Reviews?"**

**(1) ****"Take off you glasses you dimwit and look! I honestly have no idea why you wear glasses when you have twenty-ten vision!" the elder snapped. ~ This actually happened to my brother. He has ten-twenty vision. I think that's how you say it anyway. It's where, what a person with 20/20 vision can see at 10 yards, they can see at 20. So it is beyond perfect eyesight. My younger brother has that and he was actually given glasses to "correct" his eyesight that was beyond correction XD**


	12. Chapter 11: Escape

**A/N: Okay, new prediction . . . um . . . thirteen. Yeah, thirteen chappies. Maybe fourteen to be safe. ENJOY.**

* * *

"Excuse me, sir?" a soft voice asked from the bed beside him. Matthew jolted awake at the soft touch of the other. He relaxed as he realized it was Tino, the boy they had save from the snow earlier that day.

Matthew sighed and yawned, "I was wondering when you'd wake up."

"Where's Berwald?" the boy asked, his large amethyst eyes blinking in the dim light of the room.

Mattie felt a tug in his stomach, "He . . ." He licked his lips and swallowed. What could he tell this kid? He looked no older than sixteen.

"Did he die?" he asked, though he looked strong and determined, the American-Canadian could see the tears welling in his eyes. Was it possible . . . they had loved one another. Berwald could have easily passed for Tino's older brother, but there was something _more_ to how they worried about each other.

"I'm afraid so. He was too far into hypothermia for me to care for. I did everything I could."

"I believe you," the boy sighed, biting his lower lip at the emotional agony. He could tell Berwald had promised to be there when he woke up. Just the way he closed his eyes as the tears squeezed pass his eyelids.

Matthew didn't want to bring this up now, but he had really no choice, "Do you remember where you were being kept?"

The boy looked at him with a solid gaze, "depends."

* * *

The children followed silently, frightened and cold, they followed the boy who had promised them freedom with his red pipe and long scarf. He didn't speak much, and some children said that he seemed to disappear. Peter was worried, so far they hadn't run into any guards and the crowd of children just kept going. Some of them he vaguely remembered by face, others were too old for him to remember at all.

There were the sixteen year old twins Feliciano and Lovino, twelve-year-old Leica and her brother Vash, two years her senior, and age eleven Eduard and seven-year-old Raivis were a few to name. Peter remembered Raivis; the two had been best friends until Peter left for a few months and returned to Arthur telling him the Latvian had moved. There were a few others like nineteen-year-old Yong Soo who had been captive so long, everyone back home thought of them long dead and hardly even whispered their names anymore. He was Meimei's half brother who had disappeared when their mother had been pregnant with her. He cried over her like an idiot while hugging her tight, speaking a language none of the other children knew. He carried the small girl on his back since her leg had caused them to slow down up to that point.

"Wait," Ivan demanded and the great mass of children stopped cold. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall ahead of them. The kids huddled together and around the older of them. They knew not all of them would be iced, only those in their teens, mostly because they couldn't have a prison with no one inside. Any six year old knew that much. Ivan stepped alone into the hall, but they heard nothing out of the ordinary until there was the crushing of bones and a few muffled screams of agony. The youngest of the group covered their ears to drown out the noise where the older ones were more curious than disgusted.

Ivan returned with a new coat of "pain" on his pipe. He looked over his pitiful army. Their clothes were horribly tattered and too small besides for Peter who was a new arrival. He needed supplies for them, clothing, food, and matches. He closed his violet eyes and searched the building. Still ten more guards out of the fifteen that originally patrolled. That wasn't counting the added seven on the roof and outside at the parameter of the facility. Wait, two halls down, second door to the right. It had some warm clothing for the guards. When they were all dead, he was sure they wouldn't need them. "This way, hurry."

The children raced after the nimble, running boy as he took them through a maze of halls before stopping in front of a door that the boy had opened with his ring of keys. They stared in awe at the warm looking snow suits, fur-collared jackets, and thick boots; a few ration packs also lined the back wall. They had never known what "warm" was, but if they could put it to a picture, that was it. "Get dressed. Quickly, quickly. It will be very cold when we get outside and I don't want any of you to freeze." The older children helped the smaller ones into their suits while Ivan looked deeper into the storage room; just as he had hoped. "Yong Soo, Vash, Feliciano, Lovino, here." He shoved a rifle into each of their hands.

They stared at him in awe, Vash being the first one to speak, "Who are you? How can you know the locations of the supply rooms, know exactly where the exit is, where the guards are, and everything!"

"I've been here for a long time."

"How can that be!" Lovino stepped in with his two cents, "Us four are obviously older than you!"

"Yong Soo is, but the rest of you are simply children."

"Then tell us who you are," the Korean said softly with a voice of patience and endurance.

Ivan sighed, "Ivan Braginski is my name. I died eight years ago. I would be eighteen now if I had not been iced."

The younger Italian laughed mockingly, "And I am supposed to believe you're a ghost here to help us out of here? You're leading us to some kind of trap aren't you!"

"Fine, you leave me no choice," the Russian sighed before closing his eyes.

* * *

Alfred watched intently as his brother pulled out the map they had been pouring over the day before. A red circle mapped out the estimated location of the facility the Finnish boy had told them about. Matthew had heard about an old, deserted building in the area, but it was a week's walk and thirty-six hour drive. The railroad station that Ivan told him about was also abandoned, but within the area as well. Alfred felt his heart skip a beat, he was so close now. Even Arthur was there now, he looked more determined than he ever had been.

Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder, "We'll get him. Don't worry."

Arthur looked up and allowed a slight smile and he returned the gesture, "I know."

* * *

Peter didn't understand. Ivan was now smaller than him. The older boys kept quiet when he asked about it, so he felt he really shouldn't say anything. Still, the Russian was very peculiar, some of the other children whispered about how he would seem to disappear and, when they blinked, reappear as though he was never gone. They would stop when told to, cover their ears is what that usually indicated as well, and go when called.

"We're here," he said with shallow, excited breaths as he looked at the door. It looked like any of the other doors, but he knew. He always knew. This was their way out. Ivan closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them. They glowed in the dark, a light violet color. The children behind him jumped when they heard what seemed to be the howl of wolves. The wind was so strong outside, the door swung open on its own accord. The children cowered back for a moment before looking to the Russian with the glowing amethyst eyes. "Stay close and don't get split up. If you do, you're on your own until I can come back for you. Vash, take Meimei, Yong Soo and Lovino take the rear while Feliciano and Vash flank the sides. I'll lead."

The snow fell so thick and fast in the wind that the children couldn't see anything through the wall of ice. Still, they did as they were told, following the pipe-wielding boy into the endless abyss of white.

* * *

_He felt them leaving. They couldn't leave! He needed them; their life energy was the only thing keeping him alive. Once they left, he would die. He would not let them. His fridged gray eyes glowed as the snow became hail to stem their escape._

* * *

The hail came down in the size of marbles, hailing down on the children. Of course, he wouldn't want them dead, but he needed to destroy moral; thinking like a general all the way to the end. "Keep going! He's trying to discourage you! Don't give in!" The wind was even fiercer than when he summoned it to hurl the hail as hard as he could to hurt the escapees through their thick, stolen clothing. There was a gunshot from above. In a panic at the sound, Ivan wheeled around and raised his hand in the direction it had come from. The snow on the ground rose up and blocked the bullet from hitting anyone in the group.

"Hurry!" he shouted over the wind before turning away and leading them at a faster pace. He could see the gate, he could! He even knew where the hole was that they had squeezed through. But what the children behind him didn't know was that they could all be iced. Their souls would remain forever and keep that demon in the tower alive. He knew his spirit was connected to that man, and if he were to die, Ivan would disappear. He didn't want to disappear, but that was selfish: to let more children get kidnapped because he wasn't ready to leave the earth.

Yong Soo noticed a guard on the roof aiming at the group and fired. The man fell back with a shot to the shoulder. The Korean swore to never take a life, and take a life he had not. He smiled grimly to himself as they hurried; the sight of freedom was something he had never expected to see.

* * *

_He growled in rage within his frozen tomb. He would make that ghost pay! That rat that had been trained in the arts of dark magic as well! If it had not been for that brat investing his soul into the heart of Winter herself, he wouldn't be here now. Despite the fact it fed him with the power of the earth, it kept the boy in a tangible form, ruining his plans at every turn. It was about time that he reined in this hassle._

* * *

"Quickly! Under the wires," he instructed as they came upon the cut iron, "Keep heading south until you come across a rock with the symbol of a diamond, then head to your right until you see a sign. At that point, head in the direction you were going previous. You're going to be on the road, stay together and the person to take you away will see you, just keep walking and have faith."

"What about you Ivan?" Peter asked worried. Why wasn't the Russian coming with them?

The ashen haired boy smiled, "I have some unfinished business to attend to."

Before Peter could open his mouth, Ivan had disappeared. He stood frozen for a moment before being pushed through the hole by Vash who was becoming increasingly impatient. They followed the directions, the hail over and the wind urging them on eagerly. The rock was untouched by snow and completely dry. No one questioned the unnatural phenomena, just turned to the west and continued on their journey.

* * *

_He shook in rage. He felt their power slip away from him as they passed under the gate and into the Canadian wasteland of snow and ice. That brat! That ghost from Hades! He ruined everything! He felt his power over the environment lessen significantly as they wandered farther and farther away._

"_I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?" a cheeky, near-adult voice asked mockingly. He knew who it was. That Spawn of the devil! That villain! This was it! He would destroy this feeble soul and cast him into the depth so as to feed off his energy all at once. Who knew, maybe he could bring his body back to life with the boy's magic._

* * *

They had been driving for hours, all the while Alfred checked the map to make sure they were on course while Arthur stared out the window ahead of them. The weather was becoming increasingly worse that Matthew had to slow to a near crawl to avoid loosing traction.

"A battle is going on," Arthur murmured to himself.

Alfred glanced back at his cousin, "What are you going on about Artie?"

"Two dangerous forces are at war with each other. They have strong magic."

"Aren't you too old to believe in that Arthur?" Matthew asked with a raised eyebrow. Sure, Arthur was the oldest, but Matthew honestly saw himself as the most mature out of the three. He didn't believe in fairies, unicorns, magic, and he sure as hell didn't believe in ghos-. "Shit!" he swore as he slammed on the breaks and swerved to avoid hitting what appeared to be a small mob. Luckily he hadn't been going that fast or he might have hit the small blonde that stood at the head of the group, let alone rolled the car.

Arthur looked out the window and his green eyes grew big and filled with tears, "PETER!"

"ARTHUR!"

* * *

**A/N: Yay~! Epic battles are to ensue . . . I think. I hope. Story, there better be some kick ass awesome fight scenes! Ooh~ even I'm giddy as to see how this ends~!**


	13. Chapter 12: The End of Whyntir

**A/N: Expect 14 chapters. I'm trying to figure out the best ending. Currently I have four, and no, sorry, no polls for this since I like keeping you all hanging XD It will be decided at December 1****st ****at the latest. I hope you enjoy~!

* * *

**_Old man Whyntir stood from his icy throne, his limbs cracking from ice and age. Despite the cheeky and self-confident comment, he was afraid. He had never been so afraid since he had been taken from his dear, sweet sisters. Still, he would not back down!_

_He hadn't backed down when devising the plan of escape with Toris, the first one ever conducted. The courners of his lips twitched with a smile as he thought of what Toris and Feliks had become. They were successful, free . . . alive. Jealousy had always been a part of him, but Katyusha had raised him better than that. So instead of wallowing in envy that he could not have lived and been in their place, he was happy for them._

_He didn't back down then, he wouldn't back down now!_

_Despite being in his six-year-old form, Whyntir could feel the aura of an adult radiating off the small body. He chuckled, cold and sharp like a blade. "You've defied me, nature, and the heavenly intention all together," he laughed at the child._

"_You are one to talk! A man of over a hundred who lives off the frozen souls of children! I hardly find myself the subject of rebuke in this situation! You should be dead whereas I should be alive!" Ivan scowled at the thought, "You are the devil. In no other I would I see the epitome of Satan and all evil in the worlds."_

"_Funny, I would have said the same to you. Living off the soul of Gaia's winter and living in a pitiful half-existence every season. Stealing from Mother Earth herself," he tsked, revealing a long, hand-and-a-half sword of solid ice, "I'll do her the favor of exterminating such a pathetic little leach."_

_Ivan stayed silent, only bearing the pipe he had brought with him. Before he could blink, the General was a mere inch from his face. His eyes widened as he barely managed to block the blow, sending him into the wall. He groaned in pain as he made contact with the cold stone of the walls. He had forgotten what pain felt like. Defiantly, he grinned before jumping to his feet and charging. "DIE!"_

* * *

Alfred heard a voice on the wind coming from where the children seemed to be fleeing. It sounded faint, yet familiar. He looked up; the snow was falling in heaps, covering over almost every surface. He could see the faint light to the east where the sun should have been peeking through, but no light passed through. A soft tug on his jacket sleeved brought back his attention to the dozen or so children. Peter looked up at him with worried blue eyes.

"Alfred, will Ivan be all right?" the English boy asked timidly. He assumed Alfred knew him since Ivan had led them to each other.

The American looked back to the North before sighing, "I don't know. I honestly don't know."

"Can't you do something to help him Alfred? You're always able to help. Please help!" Peter begged fervently. Almost as a fit.

He smiled, Peter took a little _too much_ after him. He looked back to the growing blizzard, "How far is it from here to there on foot?"

"About a half hour. You have to keep going until you see a sign and then turn right until you see a rock with a diamond carved into it. But . . . with all this snow, I don't think you can see it. It would be buried. If you do see it, head directly north."

"We'll see then, won't we," he spoke determined, more so than he actually felt. Regardless, he went over to his brother and cousin who were creating a seating arrangement to fit all the kids in the four-wheel-drive. "Arthur, Matthew, I'm heading back. Peter says there's one more boy back at the facility."

"What!" Arthur exclaimed, nearly dropping Raivis whom he was holding, "You do realize we have to get these kids to town as soon as possible, right!"

"That's why I said _I_ was heading back."

"You'll get lost, you don't know the way," Mattie interjected, trying to reason with his brother.

Alfred gave that heroic smile of his, "I ain't too worried. I got easier directions than your map was giving me. You guys take the kids to town and set them up, then come back for me. When you come back, if I'm not here within three hours, I'm either hopelessly lost or dead."

"Or a combination of both!" the Englishman snapped, "Alfred, think reasonably-!"

"Listen, I'll be here. Don't forget the plan," and he left, disappearing into the white sheet of snow.

* * *

_Ivan struggled to his feet, sore, hurt, and losing ideas. He didn't want to use magic to coerce his opponent to do so as well. He knew he was more skilled than this General Whyntir, but the General had his entire soul to command his powers whereas Ivan was only in a (as much as he hated to admit it) Half-existence. He felt a sharp stab through his stomach and gasped at the unexpected penetration of the icy sword. Using the proximity to his advantage, despite the burning coursing through his body, he swung his pipe, making contact with Whyntir's frozen skull. The man grunted, but pulled away. Ivan could see the warm blood collecting under the layer of ice at his temple. The ghost grinned before coughing into his hand. His violet eyes widened in surprise at the dark red, sticky substance coating his small, pale fingers._

Blood.

* * *

Alfred trudged through the winds and felt them lessen slightly, much to his surprise. If it hadn't been for that decrease, he would have ran head-first into the street sign Peter had told him about. He grinned, though numb and on the verge of freezing. He was close. Peter said that the trail was the longest. Once he made it to the rock, it was a ten minute jaunt. He turned east and followed his oral directions.

He grinned as he spotted the stone, almost completely untouched by the snows, though it was a strange shade of blue and Alfred was pretty damn sure rocks didn't feel cold so they couldn't be blue. Also, the diamond etched into the top of it was too smooth to really be rock. The majority of the rock seemed to be under the ground. Alfred, curious as ever and suspicious all the same, dusted away the white sheets that did collect around the edges and the very top. He gasped in surprise.

A boy lay at the bottom in fetal position, perfectly preserved, his scarf suspended in unseen water, and his eyes open. Violet orbs staring back at his, glowing in the night.

* * *

_Ivan could feel him, even though Whyntir could not. He was so close; Ivan could have reached out and touched him had it not been for the ice blocking his way, keeping him in his eternal cocoon. Still, he felt the warmth course through his weary frame. It gave him the strength he needed. Whyntir charged once more with his battle cry and lunged. Ivan deftly dodged the blade and swung at the demon-man's chest. More red pooled beneath that translucent blue shell._

"_Wretched boy! I am through playing!"_

* * *

Alfred continued anyway, leaving the boy he had actually been searching for in his ice prison. He would return to him soon enough, once Whyntir was finally put out of business. He could see the facility, the guards were gone . . . or most of them. A man with reddish-brown hair, though such a light brown it could have been blonde, stood at the gate. Mathias, right? He looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties, tall and strong built.

"Alfred Jones?" he called to the snow.

"Yeah?"

"I got a notice from someone that you'd be coming. Specifically some blonde boy with an English accent," he grinned, despite the cold, "as far as I know all the kids got out. What are you doing back here?"

"One more boy I promised to get," Alfred smiled in return, "And I'm here to take Whyntir down."

The Dane looked over his shoulder slightly, "Then you'd want to get to the tower."

The said tower was unable to be seen through a thick cloud of black and gray. Alfred could feel the tensions inside that cloud. He could feel Ivan.

"I can take you to the base, but after that you're on your own. I can't stay here any longer."

"I would appreciate that. Thank you."

* * *

_The General could feel the fire enter the camp, his power recoiling from it. He couldn't feed from the souls of fire-children. They were strong willed and defiant, which was why he had beaten them, tortured them until that fire was extinguished and they turned into ice. He didn't have the time or the men or the power to fulfill that task of breaking this soul. Not only that, but he was strong, almost like an inferno. He was too hot, too much power radiating out of him._

_Ivan felt it too, but he latched onto Alfred's soul, drawing power from its eternal heat. He shivered as he felt his own frozen soul melting from their connection._

_Regardless of the fire in his home, the General summoned the ice. Ivan couldn't defend himself, he had to wait for the ice of his soul to melt before he could draw in power from Alfred, weakening him in the process. The shards pierced through him as he cried out in pain, blood polling from his open wounds._

* * *

Alfred could hear him, he began running ahead of Mathias who called futilely after him. He found the stairs on his own and climbed them as fast as he could. The stairs were frozen, causing him to trip and fall face-first. He spat up some blood, accidentally biting down on the tip of his tongue. Ignoring the dull pain, he continued on his way up, paying a little more attention to the old, stone blocks. He could see the door leading into the room he was sure Ivan was with the General. He attempted to open the door, pushing, pulling, nothing worked. The door was frozen solid.

He wouldn't give up! He came this far and like hell was he going to surrender and go home now! Alfred slammed his shoulder into the door, hearing a sharp crack from the other side. He pulled back and tried again, another grinding screech echoed in the empty hallway. With one final lunge, he broke through.

* * *

_The room was frozen; shards of deadly sharp ice littered the ground as well as the red of blood. He could see the boy on the ground, struggling under the agony of his bodily abuse._

"_Ivan!" he called, drawing the fridged gaze of the General to him. He almost cowered back from the sight of the monster. He no longer looked like the human he had seen as a child. This man was evil with a deformed, spindled body of ice. He had no heart in his eyes; and nor did he care for one._

_The boy looked up at him, blood trickling down the courners of his mouth, yet he smiled. His smile as innocent as the picture he had seen when he first began the case._

* * *

**Dressed in a thin shirt and jacket, he sat at a grand piano, attempting to play with one hand. He was smiling broadly, laughing even.**

* * *

_Alfred, despite his instincts telling him to run away as fast as he could, rushed to Ivan's side. He could feel the boy's skin. It was warming up._

* * *

"There's the sign! Turn right! Right!" Peter shouted to Matthew who quickly turned the wheel and began off-roading in said direction.

"Peter! Sit you butt down and put on your seatbelt! I just got you back! Like hell I'm having you die because you go flying out the bloody window!"

Completely ignoring his brother Peter jumped between the two, "There! There's the stone! Or . . . where the stone was. I know it! J-just turn left! Turn left!"

* * *

_Ivan leaned up to his ear, "Forgive me." The boy disappeared and Alfred felt something thing his chest curl and tighten. Should he fight it? His instincts told him yes, that he should get whatever this was out of him. Still, he trusted the ghost. He had brought his cousin back and the children who disappeared before him. He relaxed, allowing the foreign feeling dominate over his heart before feeling them merge to an equal balance._

* * *

"**Please help me."**

"_**How?"**_

"**You are strong, but wield no magic. I am weak but command the mystic powers. Please help me."**

"_**Anyway I can, I will."**_

* * *

_Alfred's eyes opened, but were different. The General swore loudly as he saw the violet gleam behind the blue depths. Regardless, he hurled more shards at the two. Alfred lifted his hand smoothly, without worry or fear, the sheer heat of his soul melting the spears of ice. The General's gray eyes grew lighter in shock, though he could not change his facial expression. He couldn't fight this fire-soul. It was backed by Ivan's childish spirit as well. He couldn't leave this place either. He could not run. He could see the adult form of Ivan behind the living boy. Damn this ghost to the deepest pits of Hell's fiery torment._

"_I think it's time to end this," their joint voices proclaimed, the red spirit of fire emanating off of the blonde's form. He could feel the heat as he cowered back. This could not be happening! He had lasted so long to simply die off under the flames of this _child!

_Ivan used his magic to condense the fire in Alfred's soul, building up the pressure steadily until it reached its limit. It was so hot, like an inferno from the underworld, or perhaps the sun from the heavens. Yes, Alfred was a sun. He released his hold on the flames, sending them out of the American's body as a ring, melting and burning all in its path._

_Including Old Man Whyntir._


	14. Chapter 13: Meadows of Heaven

There was a longing tug in his chest as he passed the place where Peter had been pointing. He quickly slammed on the brake, causing Arthur to grab the boy who had refused his advice to place on a seatbelt not ten seconds ago. "Matthew! What the hell-?"

"Before you start screaming at me, there's something there," Mattie cut him off, watching the empty hole with curious eyes. He placed the car in park and jumped out, slowly making his way to the hollow ground. He peaked inside: under a light dusting of snow was a small boy, soaked thoroughly, his violet eyes half lidded and slowly falling.

"Arthur! Get over here and help me!"

* * *

_They stood an arms length from each other, staring each other in the eye. It was over; everything they could have hoped to achieve was done. What was there left for either of them to do? Alfred still had a life; he still had some years ahead of him. Ivan was long overdue for eternal peace. Still, Alfred felt a pang in his chest. He honestly didn't want to see Ivan go. His will was done; he had no purpose any longer._

"_It is finished then," the eighteen-year-old ghost affirmed what they were both thinking._

"_Yeah. What happens now?"_

_Ivan looked out to the darkness as though someone was calling him, "I guess my time in-between this world and the next is over. I don't belong here anymore. And as much as I'd love to wait for Chief __Pavneli to cross to my side, I am sure he will get what is coming to him soon, yes?"_

"_You shouldn't even ask," Alfred scowled, "I'll make sure he gets something for what he's done. Preferably lethal injection, but twenty-five-to-life works fine too." He looked up to those deep amethyst eyes as he thought about everything he had gone through. "Thank you. Thank you for keeping Peter safe, freeing the children . . . this," he chuckled, "You're the real hero. Not me."_

"_You showed me that I could do more. I was scared, even in death, but I could do something if I tried. You gave me courage. Spasibo comrade, you truly are a hero to me and my sisters." Again he looked over his shoulder to a sound only he can hear, "I must go now. I thank you, with all my heart, Alfred F. Jones." With that he turned and began walking into the darkness._

_Alfred felt a swelling pride in his chest as Ivan slowly faded away into the black as it slowly became brighter. He may not have been able to save Ivan, but he was able to set him free._

* * *

Alfred's eyes fluttered open, wetness covered his face. Had he been crying? The soft whine that escaped his throat told him he had indeed. Still, the pride expanded his heart as he remembered what had happened. No more fear . . . no more disappearances . . . and it was thanks to Ivan. He smiled before getting to his feet. The room looked like any other; no one would have guessed that a magic battle between good and evil had ever taken place. The water that polled on the floors from where the ice had melted was already beginning to freeze over. He looked to the ceiling for a brief moment before walking out. The words, _"You're welcome"_ on his lips.

* * *

Matthew watched in despair as the light in the child's eyes faded while Arthur drove with Peter in the front seat. The second person he had ever seen die, and a child no less. He felt ill, but pushed it aside as he lifted the white sheet over the boy's face. He didn't know who he was, but Arthur looked absolutely shocked to see him and still with vital signs. Matthew had never though cryogenic sleep was possible in nature . . . perhaps he had been wrong? Either way, the boy was now dead.

Suddenly the car lurched as Arthur pressed the brake a little too hard before easing the rest of the way down. "Alfred!" the Englishman exclaimed in relief.

"Hey, didn't I say I'd be back?" he laughed.

"I highly doubt you would have found your way," Matthew sighed, "Peter took us the way he said he escaped, but when we reached the 'rock' he told us about, it was really a grave."

"Yeah, frozen over. I saw."

"Not frozen anymore. The kid was still alive when we found him, oddly enough, but I couldn't help him," Matthew frowned. He hated having to see people die. How did preachers do it?

Alfred's eyes went round before he peeked into the back where the boy was and listed the cloth covering. His expression darkened for a moment before he smiled again, this time with much more melancholy, "It's what he wanted, don't worry. Besides, I think it's time for him to be reunited with his family."

* * *

"Aren't you going to call Yekaterina and Natalya?" Arthur asked as he saw Alfred getting dressed in a black suit with a matching hat. He wore a spotless white shirt underneath as though he was going to a funeral.

"I will," he assured his cousin, "but I need to be the one to see the families. I just feel like it's my job."

Arthur nodded in understanding. The living _were_ more important than the dead, and Alfred needed closure from whatever he had seen at the facility three days ago. So far, the survivors had all been interviewed for the past few days. All of them asked that no one knew they were alive since it would reach the media. It was something Alfred had suggested.

In Canada, the facility was being excavated; children were being pulled from the ice that the others had talked so extensively about. Some were even still alive by, what the experts said, where improbable circumstances. A Miss Elizabeta Héderváry, age twenty when placed in the ice, was still alive two years later. Alfred couldn't help but laugh with Gilbert as he practically giggled himself to death with tears streaming down his face.

Police Chief Djavakhi Pavneli was convicted guilty for assisting a kidnapper and murderer. When the police went to storm his house to place him under arrest, they found him hanging from his ceiling with a note of condolence pinned to his shirt. He received no pity from those who had worked beneath him and it was a simple burial that no one attended.

* * *

Alfred knocked on the final door, in the car behind him sat Yong Soo who was fussing with Meimei's new pink dress that she had rumpled up from fidgeting on their way to the house. The door opened gently before closing again and the sound of a chain lock sliding preceded the door opening up wider.

"Alfred-kun," a small Japanese young man exclaimed as he bowed slightly, "I haven't heard from you for a while. How have you been?"

Alfred smiled and returned the bow, "I've been on the craziest rollercoaster ride of my life and I'm glad to finally be back home. Is Yao in?"

"Yeah, I'm here," the taller brother called before entering the foray, "What are you doing here Alfred? Aren't you on a case?"

"Just finished it and it is actually why I am here."

"Really?" Kiku asked shyly.

Alfred smiled before turning to the car and motioning with his hand. The door burst open and Meimei ran out with tears in her big, dark eyes, her arms reaching out to her older brothers. Behind her, a little shyer than the younger, Yong Soo followed, playing with his sleeves self-consciously. Yao and Kiku were speechless, but reacted nonetheless. Yao ran forward and scooped up the small girl and held her close as he lifted her off the ground in a hug of sheer joy. Kiku followed after, but instead tackled Yong Soo who laughed despite himself. They were all crying. They were all smiling. It felt like a good time for Alfred to go.

"Thank you Alfred, thank you so much!" Yao cried his thanks, snuggling close to his little sister.

Alfred smiled back, "It wasn't me who saved them, I just brought them back."

"Then send our deepest gratitude to whoever did save them," Kiku beamed, "And thank you Alfred, regardless of how little you feel like you did, you have brought us back together. We never dreamed of anything like this happening."

Alfred bowed his head in gratitude, "I will tell them. Good bye."

He could see them waving in front of the house as he drove off; just one of the few families who had said the same exact thing. He always felt like crying when he saw the reunions, but it was not for him to cry. It wasn't for him.

* * *

Katyusha knew when she got the phone call, that her brother had been found. They both knew he was dead, but Alfred said he'd tell her everything when they arrived at the morgue. She waited patiently, resolved that whatever happened, she wanted to see her brother; even if he was no longer there. Natalya sat beside her sister, holding onto her hand tightly with reassurance.

"Katyusha, Natalya," Alfred greeted them with a firm handshake, "Do you want to talk now or-?"

"May I see Ivan first?" Katyusha asked with such a pleading look that Alfred could not say no. He led them to the room where the boy was being held while he waited for a set funeral date. Katyusha gasped in surprise, not expecting the young boy who lay in nice clothing in the coffin, his face calm and serene. She reached out to touch him, as though wondering whether he was real or not, before finally grazing his cheek gently.

He felt so cold; he was so still, his face so pale. But he looked as though he could be asleep. She allowed a choked giggle as she saw the scarf she had made him all those years ago still snuggled around his neck. Though worn, it was lovely on him.

"He was frozen for the past eight years and still alive when the Canadian police found him. Sadly, there was nothing they could do for him," Alfred explained solemnly. He was taken aback by the strong embracement that trapped him. Katyusha hugged him tightly, tears in her large, blue eyes.

"I never expected more than bones Alfred; you have already given me so much more. Even though he didn't live, I thank the Canadian officers with all my heart for doing what they could. And you Alfred," she placed a kiss on both his cheeks and one on his forehead, "I thank you with all my heart and soul. If I could, I would have heaven singing your name for the rest of eternity."

He smiled at her thankfully, "I could never ask for that."

"I would give it anyway."

* * *

_~One Year Later~_

Alfred sat in the front of the auditorium beside Arthur, Peter, and his brother who had driven all the way from his home for the performance at request of Yekaterina. Though he didn't admit it, Alfred could tell he was attracted to Katyusha, and it was for more than her bust. They were absolutely smitten for each other. On the other side of Arthur was Francis who discretely held his lover's hand. The two had never looked more at peace together than now. Natalya sat between Alfred and Matthew, holding Alfred's hand. No, they weren't together, but she saw him as her brother and, by now, he did too. Outside the first snowfall of the year flittered down from the overcast sky.

Alfred was no longer a police officer. He had resigned from the force to become a private detective, specifically for missing persons. Arthur was the new Police chief since Alfred had been their first choice. The American had recommended his cousin for the job because he was more diligent than Alfred could ever be with paperwork. The lights dimmed and Katyusha walked on stage.

"Thirteen years ago my brother, Ivan Braginsky, disappeared a day before his birthday on December twenty-ninth. Last year, he was found and returned to us by former police officer Alfred F. Jones and his family who, in the process, reunited many other families who are back together today. I dedicate this performance to them who brought back hope to where there was none and brought light and dissipated the darkness of our despair."

A cello started with a piano joining in, followed closely with a violin. Natalya leaned close to his ear, "We found this in Ivan's room. It had your name on it." Surprised, he opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Katyusha's voice.

"_I close my eyes, the lantern dies  
The scent of awakening, wild honey and dew.  
Childhood games, woods and lakes,  
Streams of silver, toys of olden days._

_Meadows of Heaven._  
_Meadows of Heaven._

_The flowers of wonder and the hidden treasures,_  
_In the meadow of life, my acre of Heaven._  
_A five-year-old winter heart in a place called home_  
_Sailing the waves of past._

_Meadows of Heaven._  
_Meadows of Heaven._  
_Meadows of Heaven._  
_Meadows of Heaven._

_Rocking chair__ without a dreamer,  
A wooden swing without laughter.  
Sandbox without toy soldiers,  
Yuletide without the flight._

_Dreambound for life._

_Flowers wither, treasures stay hidden_  
_Until I see the first star of fall._  
_I fall asleep and see it all:_  
_Mother's care and colour of the kites._

_Meadows of Heaven._  
_Meadows of Heaven._  
_Meadows of Heaven._  
_Meadows of Heaven._  
_Meadows of Heaven."_

Alfred gave her a standing ovation with Natalya and his brother. The rest of the auditorium responded in kind, her voice as breathtaking as ever. Alfred turned with a sense ofdéjà vu. There, standing unseen in the aisle was Ivan clapping, very much pleased. Violet caught blue and the both smiled to each other.

"_Thank you,"_ the ghost said, fading from view and disappearing before Alfred could say anything.

'_No,'_ he thought, _'Thank you.'_

* * *

_**Fin**_


End file.
